The Gift of Greatness
by Levi Matthews
Summary: When the Lone Wanderer walked out of the Vault, he had no idea of the destiny before him. In a world ravaged by war and fire, Gabriel Matthews finds love, hardship, and discovers his gift of greatness. A Fallout 3 Epic. Male Lone Wanderer/Sarah Lyons. Image by Darcad (Deviantart) and used with permission.
1. Prologue: Inheritance

Prologue: Inheritance

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**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything from the Fallout series. All credit for this story goes the the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: This chapter was written while listening to the song Round Here by Counting Crows. God Bless Counting Crows.**

**This chapter is dedicated to anyone who's ever had to leave something important behind for the people you love.**

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"My condolences, James."

James Matthews looks up, startled. His dark brown eyes are red with sorrow and regret. His arms are held close to his chest, clutching a wailing baby boy in his grip as close as possible. His clothing, a dusty white lab-coat draped over a simple, white shirt; faded green, military-style pants; and a set of hiking boots, is streaked with grime and dust. His poorly combed, brown hair falls in strands around his face, a far cry from the smooth wave he had once tailored so well.

"Is someone there?" he asks, startled. Next to him, Star Paladin Cross raises a laser pistol in one hand and hefts her massive black Super-Sledge in the other.

"I heard it as well, James," she says quietly. Her gray eyes scan the area, searching for targets. Her skin, weathered and dark, is barely visible amongst the blue-gray of her bulky power armor. Her head is uncovered, allowing the elements to find their way into her white, crew-cut hair. "Show yourself!" she shouts into the wind.

James prays for safety. Their venture from Project Purity has not been one of much danger; a woman encased in Brotherhood Power armor is usually enough to scare most raiders away. But this is the Wasteland. There is more danger than one could possibly imagine out in these irradiated hills and gutted cities.

The trio-Cross, James and his small son-stand just outside the cave entrance to the fabled Vault 101. The only active Vault in the Capital Wasteland, Vault 101 is impenetrable to all outside dangers of the Wasteland. Its denizens have also opted to not let anyone into the Vault for any reason whatsoever. Vault 101 remains, after nearly 200 years, the only place in the Capital Wasteland to be untouched by the horrors and dangers that plague all peoples in this hellish land.

It is for this reason that James has opted to come here. He knows his chances of success concerning access to the Vault are slim, but the boy in his arms is worth any risk.

The boy is all he has left of Catherine.

"My apologies, James," the voice calls out, carried on a dusty wind. "I shouldn't have startled you like that." The voice is closer now, and despite its knowledge of his name, James cannot recognize the voice of the speaker.

"Contact," Cross breathes, leveling the laser pistol. A man suddenly appears, walking calmly towards them, seemingly out of a cloud of dust. The first thing James notices about the man is his shoes. Perfectly polished black wingtips, their laces immaculate, stand out in sharp contrast to the devastated land around them. From the feet up is a pair of reddish-brown gentleman's slacks that don't flutter when the wind gusts around them. A dusted, brown knee-length overcoat covers a white dress shirt and black tie, giving the man a rugged, gentleman's look. A brown fedora completes the image, causing James to raise an eyebrow in surprise. It's an oddly out-of-date look in this land ravaged by nuclear fallout and war.

James feels as though he has seen the man before.

The dust swirls around the man, obscuring his face, and James can see little beyond a pair of black-tinted sunglasses. He stops just a few feet away from the pair, seemingly ignoring the pistol Cross has trained on him. James shivers in apprehension as he spies the weapon at the man's side, a scoped .44 Magnum, the silver barrel gleaming in the heat of the day.

"No need to be afraid, James," the man says calmly, even with Cross' laser pistol aimed squarely at his forehead. "I am simply here to offer my condolences. Your wife was a good woman. She had a spark of life in her that I have not seen in... well, in a long time. I was distraught to hear of her passing."

James' voice is barely more than a whisper. "You... you knew Catherine?"

The man shakes his head. "Not personally, no. But I knew of her, and her work. _Your_ work." The man's voice suddenly takes on a disappointed air. "I am sorry to see that you have given it up." The boy in James' arms suddenly begins to wail.

"Enough," Cross barks. "If you have no business here then be on your way. You are upsetting the child."

The voice takes on a chilling tone that even manages to discomfort as seasoned warrior like Cross. "Do not be a fool," he says icily. "The child is not upset by me, Leliana Cross. The child is upset because of the world and the state they are both in. The boy cries because the Earth cries. They share the same pain."

Cross' eyes go wide. "How did you know my name?" Her pistol hand shakes slightly. "What are you?" Her voice is a fearful whisper.

James' eyes flash angrily. "I'm going to ask you to leave, sir. Now. I will not entertain you any longer. I will not keep my child out in this dust storm." The child wrapped in his arms wails, as if in approval.

The man holds up a hand, mockingly apologetic. "Of course; I apologize for inconveniencing you. Far be it from me to keep the great Dr. James Matthews and his prodigal son out in the Wasteland they are about to abandon. After all, it is not like you would have been able to save this place, given time."

James takes a step forward, the boy in his arms crying heavily. "I don't know who you are, but you've got a damned nerve to stand there and talk about things you don't understand."

The man sighs heavily. "No, James, you are right You do not know who I am. But I know who you are, and I am here to say goodbye, at least for now. We met a long time ago, you and I. Though I suppose you would not remember me. Most people do not remember me. We met many years ago, when you first discovered your gift."

James' eye go wide. "What are you talking about?"

"The gift, James. The gift of greatness. You had it in you all those years ago. You were finally going to put it to use. Your work was going to change the Capital Wasteland, forever." The man takes a cigarette out of his coat pocket and brings it to his lips. A lighter follows, ignoring the wind and dust, and the smoke is lit. The man inhales deeply, relishing the smoke before letting it loose. "But now your fear has gotten the better of you. You have decided to turnyour back on everything you ever stood for, everything you ever worked for. Everything Catherine ever worked for."

"Don't you talk about my Catherine, you son of a-"

"Please, James. I have heard every insult that has ever been. Do not try my patience." The man takes another drag from his cigarette. "I am not here to make you to go back, James. You have made your choice. I am only here to say my goodbyes." A wicked grin splits the man's face. "And offer my most... heartfelt greetings."

The hair on the back of James' neck stands on end. "Greetings?"

The man laughs, the first time he has done so the entire conversation. "To your boy, of course. The prodigal son. The one who will inherit your gift, James." He laughs again, but this time it is a cruel sound. The boy suddenly begins crying harder. "Little Gabriel. It is a good name, I will grant you that. Straight out of the Good Book."

James is taken aback, even now. "I... I haven't named the boy yet." He clutches his wailing son to his chest.

The man nods. "I know that. But you will. It is a good name, James. Catherine would approve." The man checks his watch with a tired gesture. "Look at the time, I must be off." He looks at Cross. "Good seeing you, Leliana. Keep up the good work." The man nods to James. "James. Gabriel." He turns around and begins to walk off.

Clutching the boy to his chest, James reaches out after the man. "Wait!" he yells.

The man stops and turns his head to one side. "I will answer one question, James. I suppose you have earned that much."

James' voice is almost a whisper, but somehow the sound carries on the the man's ears regardless.

"Who are you?"

The man laughs again and takes a final drag on his cigarette before walking away. He disappears into the dusty wind, his voice trailing behind him.

"I'm just a Stranger, James. Just a Mysterious Stranger."

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**LM here,**

**For the record, it's my personal opinion that Fallout 3 is one of the greatest RPGs of all time. I hope this small offering has done it even the slightest bit of justice. Anyway, this is less of a prologue and more of a test-run. Let me know what you guys think! I mean really, tell me if you like it or not, because I want to do more. If you guys like it, great! If you don't, well, I'll just stick with the Mass Effect stories. This was a blast to write, and I hope you guys enjoyed it. **

**As always, R&R!**

**LM**

**P.S. I know that the last name I gave James and my last name are the same, okay? The my favorite save file for the game was a male Wanderer named Gabriel Matthews. It kinda stuck. :P**


	2. The Price of Freedom

The Price of Freedom

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**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything from the Fallout series. All credit for this story goes the the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: This chapter was written while listening to the song Let Go by Imogen Heap (Frou Frou). God Bless Imogen Heap.**

**This chapter is dedicated to the folks working the Fallout wiki pages, as their dedication has been invaluable to my research. Keep up the good work. :)**

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**Excerpt(s) from Vault 101 Storage Archives.**

** Subject: James Matthews. **

** Record(s) below:**

** -RECORD SKIP TO:**

** Day 322 Vault 101:**

_ -still remember the moment I told him I was a practiced doctor, I could have sworn I saw the Overseer's jaw drop a few levels. Despite his enthusiasm, Overseer Almodovar still remains wary of me. I can hardly blame the man; after the stories I regaled the residents of Vault 101 with, I can understand if some of them are a bit fearful. Despite this, the people here have been friendly enough, more so than the rabble out in the Wasteland, and they seem grateful for my medical assistance. Still, it has taken some time getting used to being underground constantly. At least at Project Purity we had the option of going outside for a bit of air, at least when the Super Mutants weren't shooting the place apart. It's strange not ducking gunshots, let alone not hearing them._

_ Note of personal pride: Gabriel took his first steps today. I've never seen a child so sure on his feet, let alone with that much curiosity and playfulness in his eyes. I can't remember why I named him Gabriel: it wasn't on the list of names Catherine and I had discussed. Still, it suits the boy. He looks a lot like his father; same dark brown hair, same intelligent face. He has Catherine's eyes though; blue as the sky in those old pictures Catherine used to collect. I miss her so much. I nearly broke down when he called me 'dah-dah.' He will never meet his-_

**-RECORD SKIP TO:**

** Day 5934 Vault 101**

_ -told him right there he was being a damned fool by assigning Gabriel to be Stanley's assistant. My son, brilliant as he is, should not be reduced to re-programing Pip-Boys and fixing a the damned __air-filtration systems. I can understand the Overseer's reasons, of course, but as capable as a mechanic as he is, Gabriel is far more interested and involved in medical technologies. He's a deft hand with a blade, and saved Beatrice's life when she fell down those stairs. He's calm, cool, and comprehensive during medical emergencies. He's almost as good as his father: almost. He's got Catherine's drive, that one. I try to tell myself that he's his own person, but he's every bit the scientist I was when I was his age. There's hardly a moment I don't see him making adjustments to his Pip-Boy or scribbling down formulas that only he seems to know the purpose for. Found one titled "CCES: Cybernetic Combat Enhancement System". I can only imagine what Gabriel would do given the proper time and resources. _

_ But Almodovar insists on strangling his creative potential with simple, repetitive tasks. Gabriel laughed when I brought up the problem, that arrogant, insufferable laugh of his that reminds me so much of his mother. He told me, "Please, there is no way the Overseer could possibly dumb-down this much awesome." I laughed, but part of me still worries about his future here. I will not allow this travesty to continue. My son, my Gabriel, will not be reduced to such-_

**-RECORD SKIP TO:**

** Day 6947 Vault 101**

_ -a dream last night. I dreamed of the day Leliana and I arrived at the Vault. I was a younger man then, with a baby boy in my arms and fear set deep into my eyes. It's been 19 years since that day, but I had forgotten about the Stranger until just moments ago. _

_ That scares me more than anything. To forget something like that..._

_ I should be on my sleep-cycle, but I've overwritten the cameras with that little program Gabriel worked to keep prying eyes away. If the Overseer looks at my room now with his all-seeing-camera, which I'm sure he's doing, all he'll see is me sleeping quietly. I can say I am a little jealous of this sleeping James; he's restful, and not fearful of the past._

_ I am neither of these things._

_ I never named my boy. I wanted his name to be John. Catherine wanted his name to be Nicholas. Those are the names we argued about when we were full of laughter and alone._

_ The Stranger named my boy. He named my boy Gabriel._

_ I know what he is. I know what he wants for my son. It came to me in that dream. _

_ I type these words with shaky hands. The now-empty bottle of bourbon next to me has done nothing to assuage my fears. The Stranger wants my son for his work. My work._

_ I know now what I must do. I've been doing tests all these years, not really sure why. I abandoned my work, I abandoned that life. I left a land to die as it lay there begging for even a drop of hope. I left it to die so my son wouldn't have to._

_ But perhaps there is still a chance. Perhaps I can save the Capitol Wasteland, and make it a better place. Part of me believes it and wants it more than anything. The other part of me wants to protect my son._

_ My son... my Gabriel. He's not a boy anymore, despite what lies I tell myself. He's a handsome, brilliant young man. He cares easily, he laughs often. He has a life here, and he's in love. He told me he was going to propose to Amata as soon as he'd worked up the nerve. They both have my blessing. Catherine would be proud._

_ But there is something in him, something I don't even think he understands. It's his gift, the one that he inherited from me all those years ago. There is a part of my son that is brutal, cold, calculating. I've seen his diagrams, the math he's been doing. He creates combat scenarios, tactical readouts, battle-plans. My son dreams of war and death, battles and killing. And the look in his eyes when he shoots that BB gun I gave him all those years ago... it reminds me of the way Cross used to shoot. No fear. No remorse._

_ I fear for his soul._

_ That's why I'm doing this. Gabriel cannot be allowed to leave this place; not while the Stranger still has plans for him. I can't call him anything else anymore; he'll always be the Stranger to me, no matter what names he has taken over the years. I will not let him have my son. I will do my work, and __perhaps it will be enough. Perhaps, once I save this land, he will abandon his plans for my boy. Perhaps by saving this land, I will find the way to save my son._

_ But part of me believes that I am already too late._

_ I know I will forget this soon. I know that something in my mind will keep me from remembering this dream, and this message. I will not read these words I have written. He will see to that. He will cause me to believe that I am simply leaving my life here for the sake of the greater good. He will keep me from knowing the fear I have now, for the sake of my work._

_ Gabriel's program has nearly run its course. I do not have long. If anyone finds this, please tell my son I am sorry. Tell him that he cannot leave this place, no matter what happens._

_ Tell him I love him, and that his mother loves him too._

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**-RECORD ENDS-**

** FINAL ENTRY DELETED**  
**AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED**

** USER NAME: MS**

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"Damn it Gabriel, wake up!"

Gabriel Matthews rolls over in bed, a sleepy smile on his face. "Hey there, beautiful. I was just dreaming about you..."

Amata rolls her eyes. "Don't be a smart ass! This is serious!" Gabriel sits up, concern growing on his face, and looks into Amata's eyes. The worry on her face aside, she is still the friend and lover she has always been. She looks down at him with her gentle green eyes, her dark hair tucked into that adorable ponytail she has worn since they were both children back in school. Gabriel stops himself from caressing the light brown skin of her cheek; the feel of her skin is one of his favorite things.

But the worry in her eyes brings him back to reality.

Gabriel stands, a handsome 19 year old with intelligence burning behind his sky-blue eyes. His hair is a dark brown color that is shaped into a smooth wave, causing Gabriel to appear older than he is. Even trapped in the perpetual blue and yellow of his Vault 101 jumpsuit, Gabriel is every bit the man his father is. He places his hands on Amata's shoulders. "What's happening? Are you okay?"

Amata shakes her head, and Gabriel can see tear beginning to pool under her eyes. "No, I'm not okay. I mean... I'm fine... but, oh god..." Amata looks away.

Gabriel takes her chin into his hands at turns her head to face him. "What happened?" There is concern in his voice; she can hear it, but there is something else there, something that is trying to scrape the information out of her. That part of him is the scientist she does not understand.

"They killed Jonas, Gabriel," she says, fighting against a sob. "Your dad left the Vault and they killed Jonas for it. I can't believe-"

"My dad did what?" Gabriel breathes. Amata can see the shock in his eyes, the same unbelieving look she had worn when she had first found out. His hands come off of her shoulders.

"He's gone, Gabe. He got the Vault door open and just left." Amata struggles for the words. "My father went crazy. I've never seen him that mad before. The dragged Jonas into his office and shouted at him. Then they started hitting him. They hit him so hard. I tried to get them to stop, but-"

Gabriel sits back down on the bed, his eyes wide. The message, the damned _propaganda_ that had been beaten into a tattoo in his brain since he could remember comes to mind now, its law shattered.

_We live in the Vault. We die in the Vault._

He drifts back into reality as Amata shakes his arm. "Gabriel, you have to get out of here. My father's men, they're looking for you now. They think you had something to do with it." She hesitates and a dark part of Gabriel wants to reach out and strangle her. For as smart as Amata Almodovar is, she can be so naive sometimes. "I mean... did you have-"

"No," he says honestly. His voice is cold, analytical; a far cry from the warm, laughing demeanor that she had fallen in love with. He stands again, the uncertainty gone from his eyes. "I need to get out of this place. I take it you have a plan?"

Amata nods, inspired by Gabriel's confidence. "My father has the main entrance guarded, but there's a secret tunnel that goes straight through the Overseer's office and into the Vault door chamber. You have to use my father's terminal and password to open the tunnel." She presses something into his hand, and Gabriel suddenly realizes that he's holding a pre-war 10mm pistol. The large, blocky pistol is in excellent condition considering it's been around for over two centuries. The pistol, though heavy, fits his hand nearly perfectly; a testament to those who designed America's weapons all those years ago.

"I stole this from my father's office," she tells him. "I hope you don't have to use it, but after seeing what they did to Jonas... I can't let that happen to you, Gabriel. I can't let you die." The tears break loose suddenly, and she sobs into his shoulder.

Gabriel pats her comfortingly before she pulls away. "I need you to be strong, Amata. I need you to be the strongest you've ever been." She nods, wiping the tears from her face. Gabriel slides the pistol into his tool belt and nods to the door. "Listen carefully. I need you to head back to your room. Keep quiet, and keep out of sight. Go through the restrooms. Don't take the main hallways. I'll meet you in your father's office." Despite everything swirling through his mind, Gabriel is calm and resolute.

She nods. "Be careful, Gabriel." She leans close to him and presses her lips against his. "I love you." She runs out of the room, not looking back.

Gabriel looks around his room, assessing the situation. His first action is to grab his rucksack and stuff it full of the medical supplies in his personal first-aid kit. He grabs his baseball bat, his BB gun and pellets, and the combat knife hidden under his pillow. The knife is his most valuable possession; found in a lost corner of the storage compartments when he was a boy, Gabriel has kept it close and clean since that day. The blade gleams in the low lighting as he uses the knife to cut away the upper portion of his Vault jumpsuit, leaving only the white t-shirt beneath. He straps on his black work boots, the rubber soles worn from many years of use. The knife goes into his belt and the pack goes onto his back, the bat strapped to the side.

He looks around the room one last time. His chemistry set sits idle, along with the old record player Amata had given him for his sixteenth birthday. A stack of Grognak the Barbarian comics. A personal terminal, where Gabriel spends most of his time working out formulas and designs. His last thought is to plug his Pip-Boy into the terminal and download all his schematics and formulas to the wrist mounted computer. He deletes all local copies on the terminal, knowing that there is no going back to his old life. He is no longer a boy playing soldier.

He is playing for keeps.

Gabriel presses the console and opens his door. The faint 'hiss' of pressure seems far too loud as he leaves his room, pistol at the ready. He steps out of his room; his sanctuary, and turns, ready for anything.

Anything turns out to be a group of radroaches.

Gabriel has seen the creatures before, killed many of them. A boy with a BB gun and a mind full of imagination was a formidable foe for any radroach. Add to that unnatural skill and the poor, massive cockroaches never stood a chance. That was then.

This is now.

Gabriel crushes the head of one underfoot as he holsters his pistol, drawing the baseball bat. He takes careful aim as the next roach attempts a feeble pounce towards him. He smashes the nuisance out of the air with a one-armed swing as he brings his foot down on the carapace of the final roach. The roach makes a pitiful 'crunch!' as he brings his foot down on its middle, killing the creature instantly.

The roaches are dead. Gabriel takes a deep breath.

"Hey you, hold it right there!"

_Security Officer John Kendall. Wife:Mary Kendall. Daughters Christine and Monica._ These facts pulse through Gabriel's brain in a flash as he recognizes the officer shouting at him. Kendall draws a police baton and charges him, not seeing the gun at Gabriel's hip.

_Leg: left._

Gabriel draws his pistol and plants a pair of shots into Officer Kendall's left leg, causing the man to scream and collapse on the floor. His baton rolls out of reach, and Kendall looks up at him with pained, pleading eyes. "Please," he begs, "Gabriel, please. You know my wife, my daughter. Don't do this."

Gabriel can hardly believe how fast events have happened. He looks at the pistol in his right hand as if it has suddenly appeared there by magic. He looks back down at Kendall, who grimaces in pain. "I'm sorry, Kendall." he says quietly. He walks past the security officer and down the main hallway.

Kendall's voice calls after him, pleading. "You can't just leave me here!" he shouts, causing Gabriel to stop. "There's a radroach infestation! I can't move!"

Gabriel sighs and closes his eyes. "You're right, Officer Kendall. You can't protect yourself." He turns and plants a trio of shots into Kendall's chest, watching as the man's eyes roll up into the back of his head.

_Total shots fired: five. Remaining shots: seven. _The thoughts come to Gabriel's mind unbidden as he staggers against a wall. His next thought is less practical in nature.

_God help me... I've just killed a man._

His thoughts are mercifully interrupted by his old-time nemesis Butch DeLoria, leader of the social group called the 'Tunnel Snakes.' Gabriel has never cared for the Snakes or their leader; Butch's lonesome bully attitude had gotten the poor boy beaten up many times when they were children. As he would often remind himself; _Stupidity only responds to appropriate stimuli. Violence is sometimes appropriate._ That was the philosopher in him, at least.

But seeing the fear in Butch's eyes, Gabriel can honestly say that he feels pity.

"You've got to help me!" Butch begs. "The... the radroaches, they got my mom trapped! You have to help, man!"

Gabriel sighs deeply, tucking his recent murder away into the deepest confines of his mind. "Okay, Butch." he says calmly. _Coward_, he thinks quietly.

"Let's go help your mom."

* * *

"Please, Amata. Officer Mack may enjoy this, but I don't. Just tell us where we can find your friend so we can help him."

Amata shivers under the steely gaze of her father and the violent leer of Officer Mack. The chair she sits in is cold, plastic, and uncomfortable. She looks into her father's eyes, trying to find at least a speck of reason in them.

Nothing.

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything! I was only trying to help him! He's my friend, I couldn't just let you take him!" She tries to reason with her words, but her efforts find no crack in the Overseer's defenses.

"I am disappointed, Amata. I thought I raised you better than this. I thought I raised you to put the good of the Vault before your personal feelings." His voice is condescending, lecturing. He runs a dark-skinned hand through his short cropped silver hair. "Survival is paramount, Amata. James didn't understand that. He was always too idealistic for his own good. He and Jonas always put themselves before others. They tried to destroy this Vault!" Amata can hear the madness in her father's voice; and even she can hear how much be believes it.

Mack glares at the Overseer. "This is a fucking waste of time. Give me five minutes with her and I'll get the location of the kid."

"No need, Mack."

Mack half-turns just before a pistol shot blows his head apart in a spray of blood and brain matter. The Overseer and Amata are covered in a fine drizzle of Mack. Amata shrieks and runs past Gabriel and out the holding-cell door, while her father holds up his hands in surrender.

Gabriel closes in, causing the Overseer to take a step back. "Now, Gabriel." he says slowly. "Don't do anything hasty..."

Blood shines off of Gabriel's new Tunnel Snakes jacket as he edges closer to Almodovar, pistol raised. "I've been doing hasty things since I woke up this morning," he says angrily, "Hasty is what I've done to five of your security officers. I've used a total of nineteen rounds. Five were for Officer Kendall. I used six shots to put down Richards and O'Brien. Hannon took seven all by himself, stubborn bastard. Oh, and one for Mack here." He spits on the corpse at their feet, his eyes cold as ice. "Richards and O'Brien used twelve shots to kill Tom and Mary Holden." He raises the pistol to Almodovar's face. "How many should I use on you?"

Overseer Almodovar backs up against a wall, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. He tries his best to mask it with propaganda and posturing. "You and your father were hell-bent on destroying this place. Idealistic, both of you. Couldn't see past your own selfish needs." He raises his chin a little higher as a defense mechanism. All it does is give Gabriel more room to press the barrel of the pistol against the Overseers throat. "I did what I had to for the good of the Vault!" he whispers. "I will not shirk from my duties in preserving this last, pure bastion of humanity!"

Gabriel's breath is heavy as he tries to control his anger. "You're an idiot, Alphonse." he says through gritted teeth. "You had good people killed because you were afraid. You were afraid and you were jealous that you could never be half the man my father is." He glances towards the door. "If you ever lay a hand on Amata again, I'll rip your head off." The words are not a threat.

They are fact.

The Overseer sighs. "I appreciate your concern, Gabriel, but Amata was never in any dan-" His words are cut off as Gabriel shoves the barrel of his pistol into his mouth. The taste makes the Overseer gag audibly. His eyes widen in terror.

Gabriel laughs, a cold, dark sound. He is a far cry from the gentle soul that fell in love with this creature's daughter. He pulls back the pistol's hammer. The sound is impossibly loud in Almodovar's ears.

"I wonder if Jonas died as scared as you are right now," Gabriel breathes. "This one's for him." Gabriel pulls the trigger.

'Click!'

The pistol is empty.

Overseer Almodovar faints and collapses to the floor. Gabriel rifles through the Overseer's pockets and finds the password to his personal terminal. Almost as an afterthought, he spits on the slumped form below him.

"You're not worth it, Overseer. You're not even worth the air you're breathing." He rummages through the security office and grabs a Kevlar vest and an armful of pistol ammo, shoving both into his bag. He slaps a fresh clip into his pistol and leaves the room before his anger can take hold of him.

"Not worth it." he reminds himself. He pushes the murderous thoughts away.

It is difficult.

* * *

"My god, you did it..."

Amata looks on, eyes wide as the door to the Vault opens with a shriek. The massive door is yanked aside by a mechanical arm that Gabriel has repaired a dozen times over, never once believing that it would ever be used. Amata looks at him, her gaze unwavering. "You did it, Gabriel. You actually opened the Vault." Her eyes shine with awe.

Gabriel places a hand on her shoulder. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Amata shakes her head. "No, you didn't need my help. And if anyone can survive out there, it's you." She rubs his hand against her cheek. "You need to get out of here. They're probably on their-" Amata is cut off as a pair of Security Officers burst through the main entrance, batons at the ready. Gabriel pulls Amata behind him and draws his pistol one-handed and squares off with the Officers.

"Not another step," he breathes. His voice is like fire. "You make another move and I turn you both into corpses. Don't think I wont."

One of the Officers, Wolfe, shakes his head. "Let the hostage go, you bastard. Let her go right the fuck now." His partner, Officer Park, attempts a menacing growl. He fails miserably.

Gabriel's eyes go wide, disbelief on his face. "Hostage? You think Amata is my hostage? I saved her life!" Behind him, Amata nods in agreement.

Wolfe looks from Amata to Gabriel and back again. "You turn Amata over to us. Then you walk right out the door. You go and never come back, do you hear me? I never want to see your face around here again."

Gabriel looks at Amata, his cold face betraying sadness. She shakes her head, tears crossing down her cheeks. "Go, Gabriel. I'll be fine, don't worry."

Gabriel nods slowly. He pulls Amata close and gives her the most intense kiss he's ever given her. Park and Wolfe look on, wide-eyed. Gabriel breaks the kiss and walks backwards, gun raised, away from them. He walks away from his home, his life, and his love.

Wolfe moves in front of Amata, shielding her. She looks over Wolfe's shoulder, tears coursing down her face. As Gabriel reaches the Vault door, he looks into her eyes one last time. He wants to say 'I love you' but the words are not true. The emotional part of him loves her, loves her more than anything. But the rational, logical, and scientific part of him knows that he has never really loved anything. That part of him is the reason he is still alive. He knows that he has to let go of the weaker, emotional part of himself.

He has to let go of her.

"Goodbye, Amata." he says. He steels himself and says the only words he knows he can say with any honesty.

"I'm sorry."

He walks out of the Vault, and the door screeches shut behind him.

* * *

_There is a shack out in the Wastes. It is a meager thing, torn apart by warfare and decay. It has __nothing of value, and is shelter in only the smallest of meanings. Yet, it is in this place that he decides to arrive. The time is now, and the boy is finally free. The wind picks up, a howl in the dead land around him. He pulls a battered pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and brings one to his lips. A sudden gust of wind lights the smoke. He takes a long drag and looks to the south, his eyes gleaming with purpose behind dark sunglasses. He laughs, a sound that is somehow more unnerving than the wind itself. A dog howls off in the distance._

_ "Now you know," he says into the wind._

_ "Now you know the price of freedom."_

_ He flicks the cigarette away with a tired gesture. It catches on a bit of cloth still clinging to the wooden bones of the shack. The corpse of the shack begins to burn, wood and ash crumbling around him. He takes a deep breath, savoring the smoke._

_ And starts to walk._

* * *

**All right! So far so good. I had a hell of a time writing this, so I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. I know it's a bit short, but I'm still easing myself into this story, and I felt like the Vault deserved its own little slice of the pie. It's a pretty important part of the story, even though time-wise it's pretty short. And yes, this _IS_ a Wanderer/Lyons romance, in case you were confused. I'm getting to that, sheesh, stop breathing down my neck. ;) Still, I felt that since Gabriel had spent his whole life in the Vault he should have some established relationships with the people in it. I love Amata as a character, and felt she deserved more than just a mention. I wanted to make her mean something, and then get left behind just like everything else. I hope I did that part justice, at least. Feel free to let me know what you think; I'm always up for (constructive!) criticism.**

**As always, R&R!**

**LM**


	3. First Dawn

First Dawn

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything from the Fallout series. All credit for this story goes the the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to the song Washington Square by Counting Crows. God Bless Counting Crows.**

**This chapter is dedicated to anyone who's had to start over.**

* * *

A glimpse of the future:

* * *

_They call him the Wanderer._

_ Not all of them call him that of course, but most of them do. The normal, hardworking folks call him the Wanderer. His comrades in the Brotherhood of Steel call him Star Paladin. His friends in Riley's Rangers call him Justice. Three-Dog calls him Lightbringer. When they are in public, Sarah calls him Gabriel. When they are alone she calls him Love. _

_ Love. That one he likes best._

_ The raiders, Talon Company mercs and slavers call him something less flattering, but not inaccurate. They call him death._

_ And for them, that's what he is._

_ Gabriel calmly crushes the raider's throat in his power fist and drops the blood squirting corpse to the ground in a heap. A pair of shots ping against his Brotherhood power armor, but he does not worry. The sound of the weapon indicates it is a .32 caliber pistol, a weapon that is no longer a threat to him. He moves calmly and wipes his power fist across the front of his armor, painting a red streak across the surface. He reaches up behind him and draws his laser rifle, the lightweight weapon perfectly balanced and modified for precision and power. He turns sharply and fires a single shot. The offending raider drops silently, a burnt crater where his face once was. A nearby whimper catches his attention as he moves through the ruins of the raider camp he's wiped out in a matter of minutes. He finds the source, a female raider dressed in leather straps, a fused stump where her right arm should be. She looks up at him, her eyes pleading, begging. _

_ "Please," she whispers, "Please don't."_

_ He kneels close to her, and she moans in agony as he takes her remaining hand in his. "Are you sorry?" he asks quietly. His blue eyes are warm as he looks into hers._

_ Her eyes go wide with fear and confusion. "What?"_

_ Gabriel is patient. "Are you sorry for the things you done? Are you sorry for the pain you've caused? The lives you've taken? Are you sorry for those things?"_

_ The raider gulps audibly and nods frantically. "Yes, yes for shit's sake I'm sorry! I'm sorry okay! Please don't kill me!"_

_ Gabriel nods. "Don't worry. Your pain is almost over." He injects her with a dose of Med-X and she closes her eyes in relief. He draws a combat knife from his belt and kisses her forehead. The blade on the knife gleams in the heat of the day. She opens her eyes and looks into his. He smiles sadly._

_ "I forgive you." _

_ The knife flashes. His cool blue eyes are the last thing she ever sees._

* * *

The present:

* * *

"Damn that's bright."

Gabriel covers his eyes with his hands as he walks into sunlight for the first time. His first impression of the outside world isn't a visual one, but rather a sensory one. Gabriel knew his first steps out of the Vault were going to be blinding, that much was a certainty.

But no one had told him how unbelievably hot it was going to be.

He takes a few blind steps into the sunlight, his feet telling him that he is walking on an upwards incline. The heat of the sun beats down on him relentlessly. The skin on his face and the back of his hands begins to itch intensely from the sudden assault of solar radiation. The elevated heat suddenly brings about a massive, unforeseen thirst that has Gabriel panting like a dying dog. He stumbles forward, stripping off his pack and jacket, and falls to the ground. Dirt stains his skin for the first time.

"Fuck..." he breathes, his mouth dry. "Can't even... holy shit..." The words are barely able to leave his throat.

"You look like you could use some help, son."

Gabriel opens his eyes. A shadow has blocked out some of the sunlight.

There is a man standing over him.

"You look pretty parched," the man says casually. Gabriel's vision is blurry, but he can make out a scraggly beard and a pair of gentle eyes framed by dark skin. There seems to be a massive brimmed hat on his head; it blots out some of the sunlight The man brings a canteen of water into his line of sight. "You thirsty, boy?"

Gabriel nods weakly. The man unscrews the canteen's lid and hands it to Gabriel, who grasps it with a single-minded purpose. He pours the water into his mouth, not stopping for a moment. The water is warm and tastes slightly metallic, but it is the best water he has ever had. Gabriel suddenly throws up a mouthful, but then proceeds to drain the rest of the canteen regardless. The man laughs quietly. "Take it easy, son. Baby steps. You ain't gonna to die out here." Another chuckle. "Well, not right now, at any rate."

Gabriel finishes the last of the water and wipes his mouth off on his arm before handing the canteen back. "Thanks," he says weakly. "I appreciate the assistance."

The man laughs warmly. "Assistance? That's a funny way of saying thanks for saving your sorry ass." He holds out a hand to Gabriel, who takes it gladly. The man yanks him to his feet, and Gabriel gets a better look at him. A big brown beard, calm brown eyes, and possibly the most ghastly cowboy hat in existence frame a large, warm smile. He sports a dusty green jacket over a black shirt. A pair of old military combat boots cover him from the toes up and lead up to a pair of khaki colored military style pants. On his back is a weathered Chinese model assault rifle with a collapsible wire stock. A small gold ring hangs off of his neck by a slightly rusted chain. The thing that catches Gabriel's eye the most is a well-polished metal sheriff's star. Its silver gleam shines in the sunlight. "Never thought I'd see another Vaultie in my lifetime, but here you are." The man's voice is deep, but friendly. "Rest easy son, I ain't gonna hurt you."

Gabriel nods and leans up against a nearby rock-face as he tries to control his breathing. "I apologize for my earlier attitude. I am grateful."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Attitude? Boy, you're talking to me the same way you did five seconds ago. If there was any 'tude involved I sure as heck missed it." He looks at Gabriel from top to bottom. "What's your name, son?"

"Gabriel. Stop calling me 'son'."

The man holds up his hands. "Well, so much for grateful. Didn't think you Vaulties were sunshine and butterflies, but the least you could do is be polite." A small smile appears on his face. "This would fall more into that 'tude you were talking about." Gabriel and the man look at each other for a moment before the man bursts out laughing. The man holds out his hand. "Name's Lucas Simms. I'm the Sheriff of Megaton. Pleased to make acquaintances and all that."

Gabriel shakes Lucas' hand. "Gabriel Matthews. Recent pariah of Vault 101." His quiet voice is laced with humorous sarcasm. "I'll assume that this Megaton you're referring to is some kind of settlement?"

Lucas nods. "Not more than a ten minute walk from here. I'll take you there; I was just finishing my patrol of the area. Lucky I came around here when I did."

Gabriel smiles quietly and gathers his belongings. "In my experience there's no such thing as luck, Sheriff."

Simms sighs. "That's gonna change real fast, Mr. Matthews. This ain't no Vault. The Wasteland ain't the kind of place that breeds philosophers, if you catch my meaning. You either take what you can get out here or you die. Hard."

Gabriel nods. "Still learning, Sheriff. We never stop learning."

Simms smiles. "I'll give you that. That's probably the smartest thing I've heard in a long time." He gestures to Gabriel's pistol. "I just hope you can use that thing. And well, for that matter."

Gabriel draws the pistol, grimly recalling the men he's killed. Husbands, fathers, sons.

He feels some regret.

Gabriel gestures with the pistol. "This relic has killed five men within the last hour. Probably doing something right."

Simms shakes his head. "Boy, those numbers don't mean shit out here." He yanks the rifle from his back. "Three days ago I killed eight raiders with this rifle. That was in a time span of about six minutes. Five in an hour ain't gonna do you much good out here."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Like I said, Sheriff; I'm still learning."

Simms chuckles warmly. "I'm starting to like you, boy. Don't get too friendly now, might have to sic my son on you." He winks at Gabriel. "And he's a better shot than me, bar-none."

Gabriel laughs; the first honest laugh in recent memory. "I'd almost pay to see that. Almost." He takes the Kevlar vest out of his bag and places the Tunnel Snakes jacket inside. He also grabs a handful of pistol clips and attaches them to his belt before donning the Kevlar. "Let's get going."

Simms nods. "Best keep an eye out. We've had reports of raiders nearby in the ruins of Springvale. I'd clear them out, but I don't have the manpower." He begins walking down an incline and away from the Vault. Gabriel is about to follow, but suddenly stops, looking out over the horizon.

Simms sighs. "It's pretty depressing, isn't it?"

Gabriel turns to the Sheriff, tears in his eyes. "Sheriff, you don't understand." He wipes the tears from his face and looks back out onto the bright horizon.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

* * *

And in a way, it is. The simple, sandy brown that covers the ground as far as the eye can see has a golden glow all its own. Whether it's a simple reflection of the earth or 200 year old fallout, Gabriel cannot say. But to his eyes, which have become so accustomed to the un-stimulating gray/green of the Vault, drink in the color with an amazing glee. As he follows Simms, Gabriel looks around constantly, taking every sound, smell, color and detail. He is like a computer, storing all the data he can find in order to apply it to later use. The remains of a pre-war car. The shattered monolith that was once a bridge to an above-ground highway. The grey-blue tint that colors the sky. A tumbleweed passing by in the breeze. Off in the distance he can see the broken remains of towns and settlements. Gabriel takes in all these things, intent on storing as much information as possible in this new, color filled world.

"It's not as pretty as you think, Mr. Matthews," Simms says as they walk. His rifle is held ready in his hands; not pointed, but ready. "If there's a hell out there it probably looks a lot like this place."

Gabriel, pistol in hand, nods. "I can only imagine. Must be tough living out here."

Simms sighs. "Boy, you don't know the half of it. Megaton is safer than most, sure, but it's still hard goings. We work hard to keep things safe, but it's still the Wasteland. Sometimes it feels like everything out here wants us dead." He turns to Gabriel, suddenly wary. "So how did you end up getting out of the Vault, anyway?"

Gabriel's feet crunch against the earth as he walks, a sound he has never heard before. It is a defining moment for the young man. "My father broke out," he says quietly, "Left the Vault after telling me for years that nobody would ever do it. The Overseer tried to have me killed in his place." Gabriel notices the puzzled look on Simms' face. "The Overseer is the person in charge of the Vault," he explains. A small, dark laugh escapes him. "Funny thing; I was going to marry his daughter."

Simms nods, a bit perturbed by Gabriel's mood. "So you went looking for your dad?"

Gabriel is quiet for a moment. "No... no I'm not out here for him. I'm out here because staying in there would have been certain death. My father had his reasons. If I find him, I find him. But right now survival is priority one."

Simms snorts. "Listen to you. 'Priority one.' You sound like one of those Brotherhood of Steel boys."

Gabriel sighs. "You'll have to explain that one to me, Sheriff. Hell, you'll probably have to explain a lot of things."

And he does. Simms tells Gabriel about every major faction and group he can think of. The Brotherhood of Steel. The folks living in Rivet City. The traders that wander the Wasteland selling goods. The raiders. The Talon Company mercs. The Slavers in Paradise Falls. The Super Mutants. Simms goes down the list with tired precision, noting which groups can be helpful or hostile. Gabriel commits every detail to memory as they walk.

"And for God's sake, don't go into the ruins of DC unless you're strapped to shit and have the armor to back it up." Simms says as he crunches up a hill, Gabriel in tow. "I've heard awful things about the area. They say you can't walk ten feet in any direction without getting shot at."

Gabriel nods. "But you've never been?"

Simms shakes his head. "No, but my wife knew that place well. She used to guard the caravans that went between Rivet City and Megaton."

"What does your wife do now?"

Simms stops for a moment and rubs the ring around his neck. "Dead," he says quietly. "Complications in childbirth three years ago. We lost the girl, too."

Gabriel sighs. "My apologies, Sheriff."

Simms shakes his head and continues forward. "None needed. It's not a hurt anymore, Mr. Matthews. Just an empty space." Gabriel follows Simms up a hill and finally catches his first sight of Megaton's rusted metal walls. The battered metal gate opens with the wail of a jet turbine. A Protectron model robot scans the area in a simple rotation of its upper body, while a young man standing on a catwalk above the gate waves Simms and Gabriel over. "Hey Sheriff!" the man calls. The man smiles from behind a pair of goggles and a set of old military combat armor browned by sun and sand. A dirty bandanna covers his head and the skin around his face and on his arms has been well-tanned by long days in the sun. A sniper rifle rests calmly in the crook of his arm, the weapon modified and repaired with love and precision.

Simms nods up at the man. "Hey there, Stockholm. How's the horizon?"

Stockholm sighs. "It's those damned raiders again, Sheriff. They've been rummaging around Springvale. I fired a coupla' warning shots their way, but I think they're holed up in the old school." Stockholm suddenly notices Gabriel. "Who's this pale fella?"

Simms laughs. "A Vaultie, if you can believe it. Found him up on that cliff over by the entrance. His name's Gabriel. He owes me a drink of water."

Stockholm laughs and nods at Gabriel. "Welcome to Megaton, Vaultie. You'd best watch your step out here, else imma have ta put a bullet in ya'." Stockholm sniggers and pulls the goggles off his face, revealing a pair of untanned green eyes. "Just kidding, unless a'course you're planning on doing something stupid."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "I don't do stupid."

Stockholm raises an eyebrow. "Cold one, aintcha? Like my mama always said, never trust someone as clean as you."

Gabriel looks down at his hands and back up to Stockholm. "She was probably right."

Stockholm bursts out laughing. "Haha! You never knew my momma, Vaultie. She was one stupid bitch. Thank god the Jet took her quick." He winks at Gabriel, prompting a small smile from the Vault Dweller. "Besides, I judge a man by his skill with a gun, not the words from his pie-hole." A flash of movement catches Stockholm's eye. "Aw dammit." He looks down at Simms, an urgent look on his face. "Sheriff, we've got company! Groupa' raiders coming this way!" Stockholm suddenly fires his rifle, cursing as he misses his target.

Simms readies his rifle and takes cover by a nearby boulder. Gabriel checks the load on his pistol and scans the area, looking for the most suitable location from which to stage an ambush. He finds it; a pile of stones facing the path that are just high enough to grant him cover but low enough that he can lie prone behind them. He takes position, checking the load on his pistol as Simms shouts up at Stockholm. "How many!"

Stockholm curses as a blaze of gunfire crashes into the wall next to him. He takes cover behind a railing reinforced with a sheet of metal. "Seven!" he shouts, poking his head out to catch a glimpse of the raiders. "They're coming down the path!" He ducks back down as another burst of gunfire flies in his direction. "Fuggin bitch!"

Simms nods at Gabriel and leans out of cover, only to find himself nearly overwhelmed by a pair of raiders wielding knives. They cackle madly as they approach, their dirty faces covered in grime and blood and their bodies clothed in armor cobbled together from leather strips, tire parts, and bits of broken metal. Gabriel notes all these things as he places a shot into a raider's mouth, killing him and sending bits of gore and shattered teeth flying in all directions. The second raider screams in anger before Simms plants the butt of his rifle into her stomach. The raider doubles over and Simms kicks her to the ground, finishing her with a trio of shots from his rifle. A series of shots whip past him and Simms moves back behind the boulder, giving Gabriel and Stockholm clear shots at the advancing raiders. One of them hits the ground hard as Stockholm's rifle finds its mark. A flash of fear crosses Gabriel's mind as he catches sight of the four remaining hostiles, drenched in fresh blood and firing their weapons with reckless abandon. He casts the fear aside.

The scientist takes over.

_First raider, male, approx. 6'2''. Distance seven yards. Firing standard military combat shotgun from hip. Chest unarmored and exposed. Two shot kill. Second raider, female, approx. 5'8''. Distance twelve yards. Firing military issue laser pistol with some precision. One shot to knock the weapon away, one more in the stomach for kill. Third raider, male, approx. 5'3''. Distance eight yards. Short stature indicates runt of litter, as does small caliber .32 pistol. Trio of shots to chest. Fourth raider, male, approx. 6'6''. Distance seven and one half yards. Standard 10mm pistol. One shot to left knee followed by pair of shots to head._

Gabriel opens fire.

His pistol barks ten times in quick succession. The raider wielding the shotgun flies backwards as a pair of shots tear into his chest. The woman with the laser pistol blinks as the weapon in her hands tears itself loose from her grip right before she folds at the waist, blood pouring out of her stomach. The third raider, a bit more panicky than his fellows, is missed by the first of Gabriel's shots but collapses in a bloody heap as the next two find his torso. The final raider screams in agony as his knee explodes right before his head follows suit, cutting him off.

The bodies hit the ground.

Simms looks over at Gabriel, his eyes wide. Gabriel says nothing as he walks over to the third raider, who is still alive and groaning in the dirt. Gabriel points the gun at his head. The raider begins to laugh madly. His eyes are bloodshot, fearful. Gabriel fires the last shot in his clip.

The laughing stops.

Up on his catwalk, Stockholm casts a fearful eye on the carnage below. He says the only words that come to mind.

"Holy _shit_."

* * *

_Shit..._

Sarah Lyons takes another deep breath as she goes over the list of Initiates. Her frustration is nearing its peak, and she has every reason to be frustrated. She brushes a streak of blonde hair out of her face as she looks over the list for what seems like the hundredth time. _Initiates,_ she thinks quietly, _why can't everyone in the Brotherhood be like Colvin? Or Kodiak? Or hell, even another Vargas would be preferable at this point._ She sighs again and scans the names.

Reddin

Dugall

Blake

Avallon

Jennings

Sarah can't believe that these Initiates are the best her father can come up with.

She goes over their skill sets. Dugall has a thing for heavy weapons. The Pride has Glade. Avallon is a practiced scout. Gallows, Dusk and Colvin already fit the bill. That leaves Blake, Jennings and Reddin. The first has some skill with a Super Sledge. The second has a knack with energy weapons. The third ranks top of her class in general infantry tactics.

Sarah notes with disdain at how poor their scores are compared to her own.

Sarah's quiet green eyes grow tired as she stares into the glow of the terminal. They're all the options she's got, but she doesn't want any of them. They aren't what the Pride needs.

What the Pride needs is a fucking medic.

"Still looking."

Sarah half turns in her chair and looks up at Knight Captain Gallows. She knows it's him, even covered in blue power armor, because of the black 'X' painted onto his chestplate. They all have different markings in the Pride, aside from the standard Lyon's Pride emblem that separates them from the rest of the Brotherhood. They are personal symbols that each Brother or Sister has done themselves, in order to forge that holy connection with one's armor and to distinguish one set of armor from the next. They can afford a few luxuries; a few personal markings.

They are the Pride. They are entitled to a little of their title now and again.

Kodiak has a brown bear's claw emblazoned onto both of his shoulder pads. Dusk's armor is matted with blotches of gray camo paint. Colvin's armor is covered in Bible verses, the black script done by hand with painstaking care. Glade's armor is covered in small black hazmat symbols, a reminder of the long-lost Fat-Man launcher he had used to kill a super mutant Behemoth three months ago. Paladin Vargas, second in command in the Pride, has a pair of crossed white swords painted on his own chestplate, with a single blade covering the armor of each limb.

Sarah's armor is simple compared to theirs. All she has is the Lyons' Pride emblem emblazoned onto her chestplate. Sarah sighs and looks back at the screen. "Yes, Gallows. I'm still looking."

"Still looking," Gallows repeats. The words from the Knight Captain aren't a question, but a statement of fact. "Finding a suitable medic may prove... difficult."

Sarah quietly agrees. "It's not like we can take old Sawbones out of the infirmary."

Gallows nods, a difficult feat while wearing a power helmet. "True."

Sarah leans back in her chair. "Who do you recommend? I'm tired of second guessing myself."

Gallows is quiet for a moment. "None of them are truly suitable. Combat first aid is standard amongst all Brothers and Sisters in their training, but we need more than that. We need someone who can strip power armor, do medical diagnostics, and treat wounds quickly and cleanly. None of your potential recruits fit." His voice is still perpetually cold, but also contemplative. "I do not relish in the prospect that these five are the best the Brotherhood has to offer the Pride."

Sarah sighs again. "Tell me something I don't know."

Gallows is silent for a moment. "Regardless of what the Initiates have to offer, this Pride needs new blood, Sentinel. Cleric is gone. We can't change that."

Sarah closes her eyes. That fight with the Behemoth had taken more than Glade's Fat Man out of the Pride. Paladin Nathan Cain, aka Cleric had been their medic, and he had until that day been Sarah's lover. He had always been a friendly, helpful Brother, and she had liked him from the beginning. Their relationship hadn't been love, but it was a comfort; something that was a luxury in the Capital Wasteland. None of the other members of the Pride knew, of course, but the pain was still there, even if she had done her best to push it deep down.

His absence hurts her. She blames herself for his death.

"I know, Gallows," she says quietly. "I know."

Gallows is quiet again before speaking. "Jennings and Reddin would be our best candidates," he tells her, "Reddin is a hotshot, but follows commands and is a well-rounded soldier. Jennings is meek, but he is accurate, and versatile. With proper prompting and a few medical texts, it is possible that he would make a proper replacement."

Replacement. Sarah feels some anger at the word. No one would ever replace Cleric, not as long as she lived. She stands, her green eyes aglow, and glares into Gallow's helmeted eyes before walking away.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

"I'll think about it."

Those the words Gabriel leaves Craterside Supply with. Moira Brown, an interesting, if not annoying individual, offered to pay him for help in writing what she called 'The Wasteland Surivial Guide.' He shakes his head, knowing that though he could use the work, he really has no time to wander around the wastes on the whims of a possibly crazy mechanic.

Well, not quite true. All he has is time, and the small amount of bottle caps he has after trading away the gear from those dead raiders and a vast majority of what he took from the Vault. _Bottle caps,_ Gabriel thinks with some humor, _they use the bottle caps from fucking Nuka Cola bottles as currency. You can't make this shit up._ He looks down at his new set of leather armor. The word new only applies to Gabriel having recently purchased it; the armor itself is worn and weathered. Still, it offers some protection, more than that of the shoddy raider armor, and the Kevlar vest underneath conforms to its shape easily. The newly acquired laser pistol at his hip is a welcome change from the old pistol he had traded away, and the .32 caliber hunting rifle on his back is a welcome addition to his arsenal. His combat knife is still strapped to his belt, a small reminder of his lost life.

Gabriel follows Megaton's catwalks and heads over to Moriarty's Saloon, the place Simms had recommended to him for spirits and information, not necessarily in that order. The sun is just going down over the horizon, and it glints with a light that Gabriel still finds beautiful, no matter how much it hurts his eyes. After a moment of looking into the light, Gabriel walks into the saloon, thirsty as all hell and not for water.

"C'mon, work! Goddamn radio."

Gabriel's eyes follow the source of the rough, almost grating voice, and finds himself looking at what appears to be a rotting man smacking the side of a hissing radio. The man's face is a ruined mask of grey flesh, and what little hair still remains on his head is ratty and filthy. The creature looks over at him from behind the bar and raises a hairless, rotting eyebrow. "What the hell you looking at, smoothskin? Ain't you never seen a ghoul before?"

Gabriel blinks, stunned for the first time since leaving the Vault. "Ghoul?"

Gob sighs, his voice raspy. "Oh, that's right. Heard we had us some newbie vault smoothskin here in town. Moriarty told me to give you one on the house when you showed up."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "You do realize you're showing the classic symptoms of a victim of advanced radiation poisoning, right?"

Gob smiles lightly. "Sheesh kid, you trying to make me feel better? I'd love nothing more than to stand out in front of some fuel rods right now. That would knock the headache right out of me."

Gabriel warily approaches the bar and takes a seat on one of the stools. "You're not human."

Gob nods. "Now you're getting it, smoothskin. I guess they ain't got ghouls where you come from."

Gabriel shakes his head. "No, just humans."

Gob pours Gabriel a shot of whiskey and sets it in front of him. "Well, here's to meeting your first ghoul, smoothskin. Name's Gob." He holds out a rotting hand. Gabriel shakes it without a second thought.

"Gabriel. Good to meet you."

Gob raises a questioning eyebrow. "You're not going to yell at me? Berate me? Tell me I should just put my ugly ass out of my misery?"

Gabriel shrugs. "My father always said that the measure of an individual is not what he is but what he strives to be. You're something new, that's for sure, but I'm not here to judge you. You've treated me nicer than most of the people in this town, and I'm grateful for it." He knocks the shot back and takes a cool, satisfied breath. The liquor is diluted warm, and a little stale, but it is the best drink of his life. "That's the fucking _stuff_. You just made my damn day, Gob."

Gob crosses his arms, impressed by Gabriel's kindness. "Thanks, smooth-" he catches himself, "Thanks Gabriel. Good to meet someone in this town who isn't a scared moron or an angry bigot."

Gabriel smiles a little. "No problem, Gob. I'm sorry if I seemed a little shocked at first, but it was kinda hard to take in ghoul for the first time."

Gob waves a hand in dismissal. "No worries. You ain't the first, and you sure as hell won't be the last."

Gabriel leans forward and places his elbows onto the bar. "So what exactly _is_ a ghoul, if you don't mind my asking."

Gob laughs a little. "I don't mind at all, smoothskin. I'll sum it up as best I can."

And he does. Gob explains the basics; mostly what he knows personally about being a ghoul and what half-baked rumors tend to fly about. He explains their origins; how they had once been humans but had slowly turned into what humans called ghouls; the byproduct of radiation and the human x-factor that eventually made certain people into radiation resistant yet horribly disfigured mutants. He explains that ghouls have much longer natural lifespans than humans, and how radiation even seems to heal them. He shows Gabriel the Museum of History on his Pip-Boy map; the building that a vast majority of the Wasteland's ghouls have turned into a city called Underworld.

"And no, just in case anyone ever tells you otherwise, we are not zombies. We don't want to eat your fuckin' head, and we're not mindless killers." Gob pauses for a moment. "Well, the ferals are, but that's another story." Gob looks down at Gabriel. "If you ever see a ghoul who looks like an emaciated corpse and hisses like the damned, blast him. Those are the ferals, and they _do_ want to eat you."

Gabriel nods and pushes five caps Gob's way. "Thanks Gob. I appreciate the info."

Gob pockets the caps without a second thought. "Thanks smoothskin." He looks back and forth quickly, as if searching for someone. His voice drops to a low whisper, and Gabriel has to lean in to catch the words. "Listen, Colin would skin me alive if he saw me giving discounts to anyone... but for you, for you I'll risk it."

Gabriel smiles quietly. "Thanks Gob. Just be careful. Wouldn't want anything to happen to my favorite ghoul."

Gob laughs, an honest sound. He hasn't laughed like this in a long time. "Damn, smoothskin. You're way too good for a place like this."

A female voice on Gabriel's right interrupts Gabriel's comment. "Well now, look at you." He turns and catches sight of a redheaded woman dressed in a loose-fitting blue jacket and skirt. The jacket's buttons are undone, and her long legs are covered in torn black pantyhose. She eyes Gabriel, giving him a flirty once-over. "Gob," she says huskily, "You're not going to introduce me to your friend?"

Gob sighs and waves a hand in dismissal. "Leave the kid alone, Nova," he says in his rough voice, "He's a Vaultie."

Nova makes a little 'ooh' sound and saunters up to Gabriel, taking a seat in the barstool next to him. "A Vaultie? Never had one of those before. Bet you're all nice and clean... down _there_."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "And you're the local prostitute, I take it?"

Nova shrugs. "Call it what you want, hon. I'm the one to talk to if you want any help with some of those," she bats her eyelashes at him shamelessly, "_Special_ needs."

To Gob's surprise, Gabriel laughs. "I'll keep that in mind, Nova." He looks up a set of nearby stairs. "I take it you're also in the business of renting rooms in this place?"

Nova grins. "Well now, I do like a man who knows the way things work. A room will cost you 120 caps. Whether you sleep in it or not is up to you." She winks at him, and some color appears on Gabriel's cheeks.

"Like I said, I'll keep it in mind."

Nova rests a hand on his arm, her voice low and sensual. "You do that, hon. I'll be waiting when you come around." She walks upstairs, blowing a kiss to Gabriel before heading into one of the rooms.

Gob sighs and gives the radio another smack before shutting it off. "Think she likes you, smoothskin."

Gabriel sighs and looks down into his empty glass. "She certainly knows how to turn her tricks, that's for sure."

Gob raises an eyebrow. "You sure you're from a vault, smoothskin? You're way too young to understand all this crap, let alone know how to deal with it."

Gabriel places a few caps on the table, prompting Gob to refill his whiskey. "Old soul, Gob. Guy as smart as me has to have one."

Gob snorts. "Ha. If you're so smart, how the hell did you end up out here in the ass end of nowhere?"

Gabriel knocks the drink back. "That's a long story, Gob."

Gob gestures around the room. There are no other people in the saloon at the moment. "Go ahead and tell it, smoothskin. When you've been around as long as I have, you learn that killing time is a fuckin' godsend."

So Gabriel tells him. He tells him about his life in the Vault: his friends, his love, his father. He goes into detail about the Vault, the cold metal prison it was. He recounts his battle to escape the Vault, going over the details with chillingly accurate precision. As he recites the story, others begin to enter the saloon. As they get their drinks from Gob, some of them sit next to Gabriel and listen in on his story. Gabriel's embellishment doesn't keep them all listening, but by the end of the story he has Gob, Nova, the newly arrived Lucas Simms, and two others listening in. Gabriel puts another shot into his system as he finishes the story, pausing only to down the sharp, bitter liquid. "And that's how I got here. I've got no idea where my dad is, no friends and nowhere to go. I'm not really sure what to do."

One of the listeners, an older, bearded bald man wearing leather armor and a Chinese assault rifle on his back, snorts in contempt. "Not a bad story, kid," he says, his gruff voice condescending, "The way you tell it, it makes it sound like it's almost true."

Simms shoots the man a glare. "Shut up, Jericho. I can vouch for Gabriel myself. I'm the one who brought him to Megaton."

Jericho laughs. "Oh, I don't doubt that fresh meat over here is from the vault. Way too clean to be from around these parts." Jericho leans forward on his barstool, a greedy expression on his face as he looks at Gabriel. "Lemme guess, all of it was lies, except murdering all those people. Am I right?"

Gabriel's jaw tightens in anger. "I suggest you close your mouth, Mr. Jericho," he says quietly, "Wouldn't want to break your jaw and ruin my buzz."

Jericho laughs, an ugly, hateful sound. "Like I'm afraid of you, you little chickenshit."

Gabriel stands quickly, his hand going to the knife at his belt. Gob backs away from the counter, while Jericho and Simms both stand; Simms moving in between the two men to stop them. "Back off, both of you." Watching from the balcony, Nova raises an eyebrow as the scene unfolds.

A blonde-haired girl wearing a ponytail, the last listener, frowns at the sudden confrontation. "Will you two grow up?" she says unhappily. She is younger than the others in the bar, her face gentle but concerned, and she is dressed in a long faded leather coat over a white shirt and a pair of tall leather boots. She looks at Gabriel, who regards her with some interest. "You're not a murderer," she says quietly, "A murderer wouldn't talk like that."

Jericho laughs again. "What the fuck does that mean?" he asks the girl, "You think every bloodthirsty Wasteland psycho is exactly like me? Lucy, you don't know jack shit."

Simms glares at Jericho again. "Don't make me stick you in the lockup, Jericho."

Jericho spits. "Please, like you'd fuckin' do anything. You _need_ me to protect this little shit-hole you call a town, and you know it."

Nova calls down from the railing. "Jericho, knock it off. You've got nothing to prove."

Jericho's eyes narrow as he looks up at Nova. "Fuck you, ya' fuckin' whore. When I need a crappy lay, I'll let you know. Otherwise, stay the fuck quiet and-" his words are cut off as a fist smashes into his jaw, knocking him to the floor. Gabriel cracks his neck and looks down at the ex-raider, anger in his eyes.

"That's no way to talk to a lady."

Gob sniggers a little. Jericho looks up and rubs his jaw. "You've got a lot of nerve, you little prick."

Gabriel scowls. "I've got a lot more where what came from."

Jericho sees the fierce determination in Gabriel's eyes and re-thinks his options. Jericho stands and heads for the door. "I ain't gonna waste my fuckin' time with some vault killer. You're lucky I'm in no mood tonight, you little shit."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "Same to you." Jericho walks out of the saloon and slams the door behind him.

Nova bursts out laughing. "Wow, hon. That's the first time I've ever seen anyone but Colin put Jericho in his place. He must respect the hell out of you."

Gabriel rubs the knuckles on his right hand. The skin is red and tender from where it hit Jericho. "He's sure got a funny way of showing it."

Nova laughs. "That's just Jericho for you."

Simms sighs and takes his seat at the bar. "Lousy bastard was right, of all things. We need him. Don't have enough folks willing to stare down a raider assault with a gun in hand."

Gabriel sits back on his stool and looks at Simms. "How many are there, exactly?"

"Four, if you include Deputy Weld out front. Course' he doesn't really have much say in the matter. Stockholm's a good kid, and sits out there all day and keeps an eye out, but he can't stop the raiders by himself. You saw that earlier."

Gabriel looks up at the ceiling. "Those raiders are a pretty big problem, aren't they?"

Simms nods. "We usually don't see many of them out this way. Megaton isn't an easy target, and that fact alone keeps most of the bastards away. But we've got a particularly tenacious group of them that just moved into the ruins nearby. We've been on alert ever since a bunch of them tried to storm the gates about a week ago. We thinned their numbers pretty good, and that attack earlier that you helped with wasn't as coordinated as the last one, but if the raiders gain a foothold out here it's only a matter of time before they take us down."

"You can't hit them where they live?"

Simms sighs and shakes his head. "Not enough manpower, like I said. I'd like to get Stocky and Jericho and just burn them out, but I can't leave the town undefended."

Gobs sighs and cleans the bar with an old washcloth. "It's times like these when I really miss Underworld."

Lucy takes the seat next to Simms, her eyes wide. "Are things really that bad, Sheriff?"

Simms takes off his hat and sets it on the bar. "I'm afraid so."

Gabriel nods and closes his eyes for a moment before paying his tab and standing. "So where are these ruins?"

Simms raises an eyebrow. "Just outside of town; we passed them on the way here." His eyes raise in alarm as Gabriel stands and walks towards the door. "Wait, Mr. Matthews. You're not seriously considering going over there and taking them on, are you?"

Gabriel laughs quietly and opens the door while Nova, Lucy, Gob and Simms look on. "I'm done considering, Sheriff." He turns and looks up at Nova.

"I'll need to take you up on that offer when I get back, Miss Nova."

Gabriel walks out of the saloon and into the dying sun.

* * *

_"Hey girl, you're missing out an all the fun!"_

_ She sticks her tongue out at Paladin Cain, 'Cleric', as she dispatches a wounded super mutant with her rifle. He waves her up towards a hill made out of a collapsed building where Gallows, Colvin and Glade pour fire down on a group of super mutants. Their angry bellows are cut short as Gallows and Colvin burn the life out of them with their laser rifles, covering Glade as he tears through the mutants with his Gatling laser. Cleric joins his Brothers at the top of the hill and adds the sound of automatic gunfire to the fray; even though his Brothers have nearly purged the entire super mutant campsite below. _

_ She is so proud of them._

_ Cleric smirks as he fires his 10mm SMG into the super mutant massacre. His face is kind, his eyes are a mix of blue and hazel, and his steel colored hair is shaved close to his scalp. His power armor is bare save for the white medical caduceus painted on his chest. Cleric nods at Gallows as he points at the mass of super mutant bodies below. "Gallows," he says, a happy grin plastered on his face, "How many is that today? I know you've been keeping track."_

_ Gallows doesn't say anything; he only crouches and planted a laser bolt into the head of a wounded super mutant. "I have not, Cleric. You take too much pleasure in this."_

_ Next to him, Colvin sighs and reloads his laser rifle. "This is God's work, Gallows. We are freeing our mutated brothers from their hellish torment here on earth. There is some joy to be found in this. I only pray that their souls find their way to the throne of our Lord."_

_ Paladin Glade, always the showoff, takes off his helmet with a grin an clips it to his belt. The oldest member of the Lyon's Pride, Glade's face is weathered but gentle, his sandy brown hair swept into a clean cut with a gruff beard and mustache on his face. "Well," he said with pride as he sets the Gatling laser on the ground, "If you count that patrol from earlier along with this smelly bunch, that brings our total today to around twenty-six. I'll do us all a favor and claim responsibility for the vast majority of those kills." He winks at her. "The Sentinel here can have the Centaurs we wiped; I don't count those as kills anyway."_

_ She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Laugh it up, Glade."_

_ Glade laughs and takes a seat on a piece of rubble. "That an order, ma'am?"_

_ She gives Glade a playful punch on the shoulder. "Keep it up and I'll make you keep that Fat Man of yours in lockup, you smug bastard."_

_ Glade reflexively reaches for the Fat Man on his back. "Aww hell. Just gotta give a poor old man a hard time, don't you?" He pats the side of the ancient weapon, the simple structure a poor indicator of the sheer amount of devastation it can unleash._

_ She laughs. "It's not my fault your old legs can't keep up with us." The insults are an old bit of camaraderie between her and her heavy-weapons expert. Glade laughs the joke off and busies himself with going over his Gatling laser, looking the weapon over with precision and care. Glade has always been one to speak his mind, even when most would frown upon such bare, blunt honesty._

_ She is so proud of him._

_ She turns to Cleric, a light smirk on her face. "I think one of them got me, Cain. You might wanna check the wound."_

_ Cleric nods, his face serious. "Where, ma'am?"_

_ She winks at him and lowers her voice to a whisper. "Not here," she says coyly, "A little later tonight."_

_ Cleric's face goes red as he understands her intent. "Yes... yes ma'am." A dirty grin splits his face. "I'll take a look at it in a more, personal, environment." He winks at her and checks the clip on his SMG, the light hitting his face in a way that makes her want him even more. She is about to say something, something she has wanted to tell him for a long time, when the ground suddenly shakes. _

_ The Pride is combat-ready in an instant. Glade straps his helmet to his head. Cleric, much like herself, has opted to go on patrol without his helmet. He scans the area, his SMG in hand and ready. "The hell was that?"_

_ Glade hefts his Gatling laser. "Not sure. Could be a pre-war vehicle that got clipped by some fire. We've cooked this area pretty well."_

_ A second explosion, this one closer, puts Glade's theory to rest. Gallows takes cover by a nearby pillar and looks around the corner. "That one was closer, I'd say about 70 yards."_

_ A massive bellow splits the air, causing her to cover her ears in pain. Cleric, also helmet-less, does the same. A third explosion rips into the super mutant camp below, shredding the buildings nearby and setting the corpses ablaze. A massive mountain of green-yellow flesh and muscle strides into view, ignoring the massive flames that engulf the area around it. It stands over 20 feet tall, nearly four times the size of an average human. It's mouth opens and it screams in hate, the sound enough to split the air like a firebomb._

_ "Behemoth!"_

_ Colvin utters a battlecry as he tosses a plasma grenade from his belt and fires a series of rapid blasts from his rifle. The grenade explodes at the monster's feet, causing it to roar in pain, but not slowing it down. The Behemoth reaches down with a massive hand and grabs a chunk of building, throwing it at the Pride's position. Gallows and Colvin duck into a nearby building as the massive hunk of concrete, more than enough to kill a man, smashes into the space where they had just been standing._

_ The Behemoth charges, bellowing in anger and pain as the Pride blasts it with their weapons. Glade drops his Gatling laser to the ground and reaches for his Fat Man, but the creature is already upon him. It smashes him aside with a giant hand and shifts its focus to her. The Behemoth dashes towards her, its massive mouth stretched into a sub-human look of rage. _

_ She fires her rifle, scoring a trio of hits on the monster's face. One of the burns out its right eye, causing it to stumble backwards and cover its face with one hand. It brings down the other arm on her._

_ She is saved._

_ Cleric knocks her aside just as the mutant's hand crashes down on the area where she was just standing. He fires a burst of rounds from his SMG at the monster, trying his best to get its attention. Gallows and Colvin, now in cover positions nearby, fire relentlessly at the Behemoth._

_ Their weapons do little damage to the creature._

_ She gets to her feet in time to witness the Behemoth attempt to smash Cleric with its massive arms. The ground shakes as the nimble medic dances out of the way, barely avoiding the crushing blow. She draws the ripper at her belt and dives at the monster, activating the chainsaw-like weapon and digging it into the Behemoth's back. The monster howls in pain and throws her aside. She crashes into a nearby wall, slumping to the ground only a few feet away from Glade. Glade is unconscious, his Fat Man loaded and only inches away from her reach. She struggles for the weapon, ignoring the blood flecking the corners of her mouth._

_ The Behemoth howls in anger and shifts its attention to Cleric. It grabs him with a massive hand and begins crushing his armor. Cleric screams in pain as the massive fingers press into the steel, causing the metal to groan as it is compressed by massive strength. She tries to scream his name, but the words wont come. Gallows and Colvin fire on the mutant, to no avail._

_ Her hands find the Fat Man. She hefts the launcher with cold confidence, tears pouring down her face as she hears the first of the Behemoth's fingers punch through Cleric's armor. He screams as blood pours out of the wound, dropping his weapon to the ground. The Behemoth laughs with predatory glee as it continues to crush Cleric, its eyes filled with inhuman hate._

_ The tears continue to fall from her face as she levels the Fat Man at the Behemoth, knowing there is nothing more she can do for her friend, her Brother._

_ Her lover._

_ At the last moment, Cleric catches her eye, even as the Behemoth proceeds to try and rip one of his legs off. He nods at her, an accepting, understanding look on his face. He mouths two words to her just before the Behemoth tears the leg free from his body. Blood pours out of his mouth in a floodtide, but she knows what he told her._

Do it.

_ Sentinel Sarah Lyons, peerless warrior and leader of the Pride, screams in anger as she fires the Fat Man, her voice hoarse and helpless. Time seems to slow down as the nuke flies through the air towards the Behemoth, flying straight and true. The monster turns just in time to see the projectile out of the corner of its eye before it is engulfed in nuclear fire. _

_ She watches the Behemoth fall and sprints towards the dead mutant, ignoring the radiation that stings at her skin. She finds him, broken and battered, his eyes lifeless and bloodshot. His hands are clutched to his chest, and she reaches down with a shaky hand to open them._

_ His tags._

_ Sarah takes them, the pain of loss almost too much to bare. She barely hears Gallow's voice. She hardly registers Glade getting back to his feet. She disregards Colvin's hand on her shoulder._

_ All she knows is sorrow._

_ She kneels by him and kisses his forehead. "I'm sorry, Cain." She closes his eyes with a brush of her hand._

_ "I'm sorry."_

* * *

She wakes.

It's late, and the Citadel is quiet. Sarah lies in bed, silently, sorrow in her eyes. She does not cry; she refuses to shed any more tears She reaches out blindly in the darkness, feeling for a bed mate she knows she will not find.

She knows she has to move on, but the pain holds her back. She decides, right there in the darkness, that never again will she allow that kind of weakness into her life. Her hands go to her chest, where a pair of holo-tags lie against her skin. She clutches them tightly.

"Never again..." she whispers.

Sarah falls back into sleep.

* * *

Gabriel brings his knife down on the throat of yet another sleeping raider. For a bunch of psychopaths and hard core killers, the raiders have provided little challenge so far. A few blasts from his laser pistol, a few flashes of lethal steel, and each opponent falls just as easily as the last.

Gabriel wipes the bloodied knife on the side of his leg. _Always been a night person, _he thinks. All those years of sneaking around in the Vault come in handy as he sneaks into the next room, stopping as he spies a pair of male raiders having a heated and rather uncivilized conversation. However, an abandoned school is not a clean Vault, and Gabriel steps on a bit of wood that spilts under his weight, causing both raiders to turn at the sound.

They spot him.

The raiders snarl as they draw their weapons. Gabriel, knife still in hand, rolls out of the way as a series of shots from an assault rifle and ducks behind a battered bookcase. He manages a quick look around the bookcase and barely sees the second raider, armed with a bit of rusty pipe, charging towards him with reckless abandon. Gabriel trips the raider and brings his knife down, but the raider has rolled out of the way. The raider attempts to smash the side of Gabriel's head with his impromptu club, but Gabriel jumps out of reach. The raider gets to his feet, spit flecking the corners of his mouth as he yells a curse. "I'm gonna rip ya' fuckin' throat out, kid!"

Gabriel dodges another swing from the raiders' pipe as he tries to get in close enough to do damage with his knife. The raider's weapon has more reach than the combat knife, and Gabriel finds himself backing up out of the room as the raider attempts to smash him to bits.

The raider swings again, and Gabriel seizes an opening. With his left hand he grabs the raider's weapon arm and twists, breaking the limb and causing the raider to drop the pipe. With his right hand he buries his knife into the raider's throat, causing the raider to collapse, grabbing at his throat. Gabriel lets the man drop equips his hunting rifle, turning the corner and blasting the second raider with a pair of shots to the chest. The sound of the rifle is like a thunderclap inside the abandoned building, and Gabriel can hear the remaining raiders awakening and heading towards his position.

"Great," he says angrily, irritated that his sneak attack has just fallen apart. Gabriel pulls his knife out of the raider at his feet and straps it to his belt. He sighs and crouches behind a nearby metal locker, covering a nearby doorway with his rifle. The first raider comes into view and has her head promptly blown apart by a .32 slug. Gabriel cocks the rifle with steely determination as the remaining raiders pour into the room, rushing his position. Gabriel fires the rifle once before they are upon him, swarming him with knives, bats and hockey sticks. He stares death in the face and doesn't even blink as it rushes towards him. He manages a quiet laugh as they reach him, his eyes blazing with righteous fire as he draws his knife.

"Bring it on."

Blood falls like rain as his steel flashes in the darkness.

* * *

_He stops._

_ The sun is just coming up over the horizon, a yellow and red blister against the sweet, loving darkness. The Stranger looks to the south as the wind picks up, a chilling howl that makes him smile. _

_ "Excellent work, child of James."_

_ The Stranger continues his walk across the Wasteland, the wind howling around him as he moves ever closer. "This is the beginning of a new age," he says as he walks. The wind whips around him, as if in acknowledgment._

_ "Enjoy your first dawn, child of James."_

* * *

Nova looks up as Gabriel stumbles into the saloon, covered in blood and exhausted. She walks over to him, placing a hand on his chest and looking into his eyes with concern. "Are you okay?"

Gabriel shrugs, not looking at her. "I'm alive. They're not." He reaches into a pocket and drops a mass of caps on the counter.

"120 caps," he whispers. He looks up at her, exhaustion evident on his face. "I'll need you to help me... help me up the stairs. Don't think I'll make it much further on my own."

Nova nods and walks Gabriel up the stairs and into one of the cleaner rooms. He sighs and falls onto the bed, staining the sheets with the blood on his armor. "Sorry, Nova," he whispers, "Made a mess."

She shakes her head, tears welling under her eyes at the sight of such a strong, compassionate young man reduced to helplessness. She cradles his head in her arms, petting his now unsettled hair with a comforting hand. "It's okay, kid," she says quietly. He looks up at her, his vision beginning to blur. She smiles sadly down at him.

"I forgive you."

He drifts into merciful sleep.

* * *

**LM here,**

**Ah, so here we are, another chapter. I decided, after much deliberation, that I didn't want Gabriel deal with Megaton's bomb right from the get-go like I usually do in-game, as it seemed like something that would be best saved for when he's a little more familiar with the Wasteland and the town of Megaton. Thus, the idea of going after the raiders in Springvale came to mind. (By the way, if anyone else used Springvale as their first in-game dungeon run, let me know; I'd like to think that I'm not alone.) Also, I wanted to explore Sarah's character a bit, and I decided to add a little backstory into the mix. Hope I made her believable, as we don't really get a sense of the person behind the person when it comes to Sarah. (But we love her anyway, am I right?)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the read, because I sure as hell enjoyed the write.**

**As always, R&R!**

**LM**


	4. Total Badass

Total Badass

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything in the Fallout universe. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Dumb Love by the Stone Temple Pilots. God Bless STP.**

* * *

A glimpse of the future:

* * *

_She walks into the Den, the Pride's private lounge area. She moves smoothly in her power armor; almost as well as Gallows._

_ Or Gabriel._

_ She finds him sitting there, silently reading from one of his numerous philosophy texts. She smiles at him, blushing a little as she takes him in. She loves it all: the green Regulator duster covering his broad shoulders, those perpetual 'Lucky Shades' obscuring his beautiful blue eyes, and that handsome face framed by unsettled dark brown hair._

_ She loves him._

_ He looks up at her and smiles warmly. "Just get back?" he asks as he closes the book, marking his place with a quick glance and some memorization._

_ She nods. "No casualties, and the initiates did well. It's the best batch of recruits I've seen in a while."_

_ Gabriel nods. "Good. Nothing like a group of Brothers to put the fear of God into a bunch of raiders. They deserved all the justice you gave them." He stands and walks over to her, mischief in his eyes. "Now let's talk about what you deserve." He grins hungrily before pulling her close for a long, intense kiss._

_ Sarah giggles as she breaks the kiss, something no-one, not even her father, can ever remember her doing. "And what would that be, love?"_

_ Gabriel laughs. "I was thinking that a celebration is in order," he says with a smile. "How about you change into something more comfortable and I fix you some dinner? The brahmin's fresh, and the wine... well it's not vinegar." He winks at her from behind his shades. "And after that, well... I'm sure I'll think of something."_

_ She laughs and runs a finger across his chest. "It's a date, Lightbringer."_

_ Gabriel winces. "I really wish Three-Dog would stop calling me that." Sarah laughs and heads over to her locker, stripping her armor off. The black bodyglove beneath curves to her fit and sleek figure, a sight that makes Gabriel whistle appreciatively. "There goes my concentration. If you were a Deathclaw I'd be dead right now."_

_ Sarah shoots him a playful glare. "No peeking, you lousy horndog."_

_ Gabriel grins and turns his attention to the nearby stove where he proceeds to cook dinner. She changes into a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank-top and walks back into the room, smelling the cooking meat with anticipation. She looks over at Gabriel, who has removed his duster and is cooking in what he calls his 'doctor's outfit'; a white t-shirt and a pair of military fatigues. "Smells wonderful," she says as she takes a seat nearby._

_ Gabriel nods. "Thanks. It's a new recipe I got from Gary over in Rivet City. Add a little wine, some ground pepper, and the flavors really come out."_

_ Sarah sighs and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "A great looking, smart guy who knows how to cook, fight, and satisfy. How did I get so lucky?" Her voice is soft and playful._

_ Gabriel laughs quietly as he stewards the meat. "No luck, Sarah. I told you that, once. Our decisions make us who we are. Some people call it fate; that's not the right word to use. Fate is an excuse that our ancestors used to validate failure." He looks up at the ceiling, seeing something she can't. "Failure... I refuse failure."_

_ Sarah sighs and walks over to him, hugging his waist from behind as he cooks. She rests her chin on his shoulder and closes her eyes, lost in his warmth. "You say these things sometimes, Gabriel; it's like you're a different person."_

_ Gabriel smiles and leans his head against hers. "I used to be, Sarah. I used to be the coldest bastard hero in the Wasteland."_

_ Sarah looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "And what happened to cold Gabriel?"_

_ He laughs warmly. "He's gone. One day he realized he had found a reason for living and just disappeared."_

_ Sarah opens her eyes and looks into his. "And the reason was?"_

_ Gabriel kisses her forehead. "He fell in love, Sarah."_

_ She laughs and nuzzles his neck. "You're just saying that to justify how much you miss all that lone-wolf crap."_

_ Gabriel mock sighs and pets her hair gently. "I confess, my love," he says with a laugh._

_ "Sometimes I miss being a badass."_

* * *

Present:

* * *

Mr. Burke hates Megaton.

He walks out of his shack, a contemptuous glare hidden by his tortoiseshell glasses and the pre-war hat on his head. His custom-tailored white suit sets him apart from the cesspool around him, as does the silencer on his 10mm pistol.

He sniffs with distaste; a predator that has taken a bite from a kill and found it to be diseased. Burke strides down the hill of the town's crater and down to the reason he has even bothered to make the trip to this rusted out hellhole.

The bomb.

There it sits, right in the middle of a pool of irradiated waste-water like some kind of displaced idol. Nearby, a wasted looking man dressed in filthy rags proclaims that the bomb is a symbol of the God Atom, and that all must know Atom in His glory. Burke grins like a shark. Their god will be their undoing.

Ah, poetic justice.

He had purchased the shack from that greedy fool Moriarty, and had been living a life of quiet seclusion, waiting for opportunity to arrive. He has the tools he needs, and though he cannot use them himself, it is only a matter of time before some greedy, cold bastard stumbles into town with the skill and cruelty Burke is looking for. Time has shown Mr. Burke many things, and he knows that a little patience always brings him what he wants.

All he has to do now is wait.

God help him, he's a total badass.

* * *

"Wake up."

Gabriel rolls over in bed, pulling the blankets over his head. A night person he may be, but a morning person, he is not. "Five more minutes, Amata," he mumbles.

A hand shakes his shoulder.

"Kid, you need to get your ass out of bed before Colin finds you."

Gabriel sits up groggily, wincing in pain. It feels like someone has rigorously beaten every muscle in his body.

_Wait..._

He rubs his eyes and looks up at Nova, instantly remembering everything that has happened within the last two days. She looks at him, worry in her eyes. "C'mon, kid. You need to get going. Colin doesn't like anyone staying too long. It's past noon."

Gabriel shakes his head and gives his forehead a good smack to wake himself up. "Already?" he says tiredly, "Damn, that's what I get for staying up all night."

Nova rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you've got one hell of a story to tell. Buy me a drink and you can tell me all about it, but right now you've got to get your ass out of here before-" A foreign voice outside the room cuts her off and Nova freezes with fear.

"Nova? Nova, you'd better not be fucking around in there, God help you. And if you are, you'd better have the caps to prove it!" A key turns in the lock and the door opens, revealing an older, tanned man with a scraggly white beard and a thunderous look on his hateful face. His beady hazel eyes are framed by a mane of white hair that is styled back and tucked behind his ears. The man, clad in a leather vest over a white shirt and wearing a pair of leather pants with big black boots, stares angrily at Nova for a moment before turning his attention to Gabriel. "You there, little shit. Get out of my bed. Your welcome is officially overstayed." The man's eyebrows jump as he sees the blood covering the sheets. "Mary's fuckin' ghost! What the hell is this?" His eyes home in on Nova, who cringes.

"Colin, listen, the kid here was out all last night fighting and-"

Colin stomps over to Nova and slaps her in the face. "I don't give a damn if he was giving fuckin' birth! These are my sheets and this is my saloon, you stupid whore! I'm taking this thrice damned mess out of your pay, you ungrateful-" Colin's words die in his throat as he hears the cocking sound of Gabriel's hunting rifle. He turns his head slightly and stares down the barrel of the .32, his eyes widening with surprise.

_Surprise, not fear, _Gabriel notes with some interest. _He's acting like it's been a long time since anyone's pointed a gun at him._

Colin's eyes narrow quickly. "You try anything," he breathes, "And you won't walk ten steps before this whole fuckin' town tears you apart."

Gabriel doesn't blink. "Apologize."

Colin's eyes narrow again. "The fuck you say?"

Gabriel taps his finger against the trigger of the rifle. "Apologize to the lady, and I'll go. Then we can pretend this never happened."

Colin snorts. "And what makes you think I won't just blast your sorry ass with my shotgun as you walk out the door?" His singsong Irish voice is starting to grate on Gabriel's nerves. He shrugs.

"You can try."

Colin Moriarty is not a stupid man. Sure, he's a lot of things that most find to be undesirable; he's greedy, hateful, manipulative, and even downright vindictive, but he is not stupid. He hears the words that Gabriel says, and hears the meaning behind them.

_Try it and I'll kill you without a second thought._

Colin laughs a little and drops his angry face. "Oh dear, boyo; you've got some mean little devil in you, dontcha' now?" He looks at Nova, his voice returning to its standard, aloof Irish patter. "I do apologize for that, my dear. Seems we've had a bit of a misunderstanding."

Gabriel nods and straps the rifle to his back while cautiously getting to his feet. "I'm gone, Moriarty. I hope our next meeting is less... hostile."

Colin spits on the floor. "I await the moment with bated breath."

Gabriel walks out the door, his right hand lingering close to his laser pistol. Colin has half a mind to run down to the bar, grab the sawed-off from under the counter, and blast the aggravatingly calm little bastard right back to wherever the hell he came from.

It's like the boy can read his mind. Gabriel turns around and looks Colin right in the face, a quiet smile on his features. "Oh, and by the way."

"Thanks for the drink." He winks.

Gabriel leaves the saloon, leaving Colin with a near-dumbstruck look on his face. Nova sighs as she takes the bloody sheets of his bed. "You really going to make me pay for these?" she asks the disgruntled Irishman.

A sudden thought crosses Colin's mind. A wicked grin splits his face. _Now there goes one cold bastard,_ he thinks.

_There goes someone of value in a shithole like this._

He turns to Nova, a hungry look on his tight face. "Nova, dear."

"What can you tell me about that fellow?"

* * *

"Excuse me, are you the doctor?"

An older, white haired man of African descent doesn't look up from a pile of medical readouts, seemingly ignoring Gabriel. "Yes," he says, annoyed, "I'm Doc Church and this is my clinic." Church is dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of old military fatigues; a style that Gabriel appreciates more and more as he sees it. A black doctor's bag hangs off of Church's shoulder, something Gabriel notes with relief. The man seems to be a professional of some caliber.

Gabriel crosses his arms, wincing slightly as his sore muscles bind in protest. "I was told that you-"

Church holds up a hand. "Now before you go asking me for help, you'd better know the rules. Rule one; don't bother me."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Church sighs and shrugs. "I suppose. I'm to tired these days to go into my, 'if you do bother me you'd better be damn near dead I'm to busy taking care of people I like' rant today." He looks at Gabriel and raises an eyebrow. "That's an awful lot of blood on you, young man. Yours?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "Not sure, to be honest. Got into a big fight last night and I haven't had the chance to check for wounds."

Church sighs. "Simms said you might drop by. You're the vault kid, right? Went out last night to take care of our little raider problem?"

Gabriel sighs weakly. "Yeah, it's done."

Church nods and stands, motioning for Gabriel to follow. "Good work, kid. You saved a lot of folks a serious headache." He motions to a doctors bench, where Gabriel sits, stripping off his armor from the waist up. Church whistles. "You slept like that?"

Gabriel looks down and chuckles. "Well, that's quite the mosaic, isn't it?" His torso, stomach and arms are covered in purple bruises, their sizes ranging from small to disturbingly large. He winces painfully as the doctor prods one of the bruises with a finger.

"Looks like someone had some choice words for you," Church says quietly, "I'm guessing those raiders didn't take too kindly to you killing them off."

Gabriel sighs. "Funny how that works."

Church sighs and reaches into his doctor's bag. "The bruises aren't anything to worry about; they should disappear in a few days. As for the pain, a little Med-X should do the trick." He pulls out a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "Which arm?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "Main artery on the left side of my neck, please. Quicker circulation that way."

Church raises an eyebrow. "You've got some medical experience?"

Gabriel nods. "My father was the Vault's doctor. I learned what I know from him. What I learned is substantial."

Church rolls his eyes. "If you know so much then why are you down here bothering me?"

Gabriel laughs, a warm sound. "I'm pretty tired, doctor. Wouldn't trust myself with a needle anywhere near my neck right about now."

Church laughs right back. "Fair enough." Church taps the side of the needle before gingerly injecting Gabriel's neck with the Med-X.

Gabriel sighs with appreciation and relief. "Thanks doctor."

Church scowls. "You're welcome. That'll be fifty caps."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Bit steep for a simple shot and some chastising words, don't you think?"

Church crosses his arms. "Bit cheap is more like it. Medical supplies are some of the most valuable things in the Wasteland; you should keep that in mind. I'd normally charge you a hundred caps for my time. Consider the discount a 'thank you' for getting rid of that damned headache those raiders were giving this town."

Gabriel stands and straps his armor back on before dumping the caps onto Church's desk. He opens the door and looks back at the doctor before walking out.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"Sarah, I'd like a word."

Sarah turns and sees her father standing in the doorway of the Den. She stands, dressed in her power armor, and walks over to her father. She notes with some concern that her father's brow is furrowed; a sign that he is thinking of distressing matters.

Elder Owyn Lyons is a proud old man with a lifetime of leadership and combat experience, and every bit of it shows on his weathered face. At 75 years of age, Elder Lyons has seen everything the Capital Wasteland has to offer, from its very best to its most atrocious worst. He has fought the super mutants for almost all of his adult life, and dealt with some of the biggest crises the Western Brotherhood has ever faced. He is a noble, proud, and tired man burdened with the seemingly insurmountable task of leading the Capital Wasteland's first and last line of defense.

But he still finds time to chastise his cherished daughter.

Sarah follows her father into the hallway, bracing herself for whatever her father has to tell her.

His words surprise her.

"You are my daughter, Sarah, and I love you more than you could possibly imagine." Lyons' voice is gentle, yet firm and insisting. His wrinkled face, set with gentle hazel eyes and a long, white beard, is layered with compassion and concern. "And it torments me to no end to see you in this state."

Sarah frowns. "I'm not sure what you mean, father."

Lyons sighs, a sound that makes Sarah cringe inwardly. "I knew about you and Paladin Cain, Sarah. I know what he meant to you, and I know the loss you are feeling right now."

Sarah's eyes go wide. "You... you knew?"

Lyons nods sadly. "I wouldn't be much of an Elder if I couldn't keep up with the antics of my own daughter. Truthfully, I was happy for you both. Cain was a good man, and a noble member of the Brotherhood."

Sarah looks away. "Yes... yes he was."

Lyons places a hand on his daughter's armored shoulder. "Sarah, I know you. You are my daughter, and you are the greatest warrior this Brotherhood has ever seen. But even you cannot defeat an enemy like this without the support of those who care for you. Grief is not an enemy that can be overtaken, outsmarted, or outmaneuvered. Grief is unlike anything you will ever face, and it can consume you if you let it."

Sarah shakes her head. "With all due respect, father," she says bitterly, "I know how to deal with grief. Cain is not the only Brother that the Pride has lost."

Lyons sighs. "It is not the same, my daughter."

Sarah glares at her father, who regards her with only a tired look and sorrow in his eyes. "It is the same," she says angrily, "He's gone. I can't change what happened anymore than I can make the sun set. Isn't that the way of the Brotherhood? We fight, we die, and we never forget. It's always the same. No matter what."

Lyons closes his eyes. "It's not, Sarah. Your mother showed me that, rest her soul."

Sarah says nothing. She turns and walks up the stairs to the Bailey, keeping her anger close to her heart.

It's painful, but it fills the hole that Cain left when he died.

* * *

He can hear the whispers of the townsfolk as he walks towards the Brass Lantern.

"That's him, the vault kid."

"Heard that he went into Springvale and killed a shitload of raiders."

"Yeah, by himself."

"That kid? No way. He doesn't look like he could milk a brahmin, let alone kill a raider."

The voices nag him incessantly. A snide, mocking voice calls out to him.

"Well well well, if it ain't the little vault killer."

Gabriel stops in mid-stride and turns to face Jericho. "You want something?" he asks coldly.

Jericho laughs mockingly. The undetonated atomic bomb in the center of the crater town sits idly nearby as Gabriel's eyes narrow. Jericho walks towards him, a smug grin on his face and a pair of brass knuckles on his hands. "I told you back at Moriarty's that I wasn't in the mood, you little shit. Now I am, and I'm gonna to teach you a fuckin' lesson."

Gabriel's hands ball into fists. "You're doing a good job of pissing me off, Jericho."

A group of settlers and passers-by take interest in the growing confrontation, whispering to themselves. Jericho grins and settles into a boxing stance. "Kid, if I just wanted to beat your sorry ass I would have smashed your face in with a beer bottle when you left the fuckin' saloon. No, I want everyone to see this. I want to hear their little savior-badass squeal before I knock his ass out."

Gabriel laughs condescendingly. "And here I thought a tough guy like you would try and kill me." Even Gabriel is surprised by how casually he has accepted death and combat, things that were foreign to him only a few days ago.

Jericho's grin widens. "If we were anywhere else, this would be a different fuckin' story." His eyes narrow. "But hell, sometimes shit happens, even in a straight fight."

Sheriff Simms walks up the pair, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Knock it off, you two. I won't have any fighting in my town."

Moriarty's voice floats down to the group. "Oh, lettem' go at it, Sheriff. This town could use a little honest entertainment." The crowd, which has grown in size now, murmurs its approval.

Simms glares up at Moriarty, who is leaning against a railing just outside his saloon. "We ain't raiders, Colin," he says, his voice dark, "I won't allow this." He turns back to Gabriel, who nods.

"No worries, Sheriff," he says calmly. "I'm not here to start anything. I'm just hungry."

Jericho growls at Gabriel. "Hungry for a boot up your ass, huh kid? Little faggot like you can't get off any other way."

Gabriel tuts like a schoolteacher. "Wow, Jericho," he says with heavy sarcasm. "Using implied sexuality to attack me verbally. Very mature." He turns and begins to walk away. Simms' shoulders droop with relief.

Jericho spits on the back of Gabriel's neck. "You ain't going anywhere, you little bitch. Get over here and fight me!"

Gabriel sighs and wipes the spit off the back of his neck with a dirty sleeve. He turns to Simms and hands the Sheriff his hunting rifle and laser pistol. "Hold these for me, would you?" he asks quietly.

Simms raises an eyebrow. "I suppose I can't stop you now, can I?"

Gabriel manages a slight smile. "Stupidity only responds to appropriate stimuli, Sherrif. In this case, violence is the appropriate stimuli."

Simms sighs and nods, taking Gabriel's firearms. "Just don't kill him, okay? Don't let him kill you, either."

Gabriel nods. "I won't." He turns back to Jericho, who grins and barks like a mad dog. The crowd begins to jostle nervously as they crane their necks and try to find good seats.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. All those years in the Vault had made him an avid reader, unlike most of the other children, and one of his personal favorites had been a worn green book simply titled _The Art of Wing Chun_. The large, pre-war tome was filled with extensive illustrations and combat techniques depicting a style of martial arts that was primarily focused on redirecting an opponent's blows and countering with fast, hard strikes and debilitating grapples. Gabriel studied extensively from the tome as a boy, for fun at first, but when Butch had created his 'Tunnel Snakes' the knowledge had found a more practical use.

Gabriel opens his eyes and fixes Jericho with a glare as cold as ice. His hands ball into fists as he settles into his fighting stance. _Arms equidistant from the sides, held at middle. Elbows bent, palms up and fists out. Feet at shoulder level and turned slightly inwards, with knees bent slightly for __maximum movement on centered axis._ Gabriel thinks these things with clarity as his body moves into position.

Jericho laughs and raises an eyebrow. "What, you inviting me to fuckin' hit you?"

Gabriel's voice is barely more than a whisper.

"Find out."

* * *

Burke is tired.

He's spent less than an hour walking around in this godforsaken slice of shit called Megaton, and already he wants to cut off his own nose and feed it to a brahmin. The smell in this place is atrocious at best.

So far, no luck. The only person in this town who seems to have even half a brain is the woman who owns the general store; and even that is wasted on her eccentricities and moronic delusions of a bettered Wasteland.

Something below catches his eye. A confrontation near the bomb has attracted a rather large crowd. He watches curiously as an older, burly man and a younger, more precise man square off for a fight. Burke watches, fascinated, as the younger man settles into the fighting stance of a learned martial artist. "Well well," Burke says, his voice dark with anticipation.

"What do we have here?"

* * *

Jericho roars in anger and brings his right fist down in a superman punch. For one glorious moment he can see the lousy shit's face breaking under his knuckles, the smug little vault bastard reduced to a broken, sniveling pantywaist.

Jericho crashes to the ground.

He scrambles to his feet and looks around, confused. _The fuck?_ He turns and sees Gabriel nearby, his arms outstretched and solid in their position.

Jericho growls._ Fucker blocked me._ He runs up the the little shit and throws a volley of jabs his way.

Gabriel blocks most of them with a series of sharp arm blocks. One of them finds his stomach and he doubles over, eliciting a loud cheer from the crowd. Jericho follows the hit with a knee to the gut that sends him sprawling to the ground in pain. He gets to his feet slowly, wincing. At least one of his ribs is cracked.

Jericho grins. "Ain't so tough now, are ya?"

Gabriel dusts himself off and settles back into his stance. "Not done yet."

Jericho snarls and sends a heavy hook towards Gabriel's head. Gabriel blocks the clumsy punch and steps forward, knocking Jericho off center. The older man's eyes go wide just before Gabriel smashes his forehead into Jericho's nose, breaking it. Jericho stumbles back with a howl as his hands go to his face, blood and snot pouring out between his fingers. People in the crowd cheer.

Gabriel doesn't let up. The point must be made. He grabs Jericho's right arm and twists hard, snapping the bone and causing the ex-raider to scream in pain. Gabriel yanks forward on the broken limb and buries his right knee into Jericho's stomach, knocking all the air out of his opponent's lungs. Jericho collapses to the ground in a heap, moaning in pain as he sprawls out onto the dusty ground. One of his hands dips into the pool of radioactive water that surrounds the bomb.

The crowd goes silent.

Gabriel suddenly drops to Jericho's side and draws his knife, eliciting a gasp from the assembled crowd. He yanks up on Jericho's shirt and brings him face to face with himself, showing the ex-raider the bloodied knife. "You see this?" he asks coldly. Jericho, who's eyes are wide in fear, nods shakily.

"Y... yeah."

Gabriel's eyes are like fire. "I killed nine raiders with this knife last night, and I fucking _hate_ odd numbers."

Confusion appears on Jericho's face. "Wh... what?"

"Never mind." Gabriel pulls Jericho's face closer to his. "You see me?" Jericho nods again. "This is the face of mercy, Jericho. I suggest you take a long, hard look at this face before you decide to fuck with me again." He glares at Jericho for a long moment before dropping the broken man to the ground and sheathing his knife.

Gabriel takes several deep breaths and notices all the faces staring at him. He sees Simms, who nods approvingly. He can see Lucy West up in the catwalks above him, leaning on a rail and smiling with pride. Moriarty catches his eye; the smug Irish bastard raises a bottle of whiskey in salute.

"Now there," he says lightly, "is a total badass."

* * *

Burke grins with predatory glee as he watches the fight's victor stumble towards the local constable, retrieving his weapons. Together the men drag the defeated man to the clinic. The victor leaves the clinic, his eyes hard.

Burke pats the inside of his suit jacket with anticipation. A compact micro-pulse emitter sits in the inside pocket. Now is the time. All he has to do is wait for opportunity to find him.

* * *

He has found his man.

Gabriel walks up to Lucy, a hand on his ribs. "Still think I'm a good guy?" he asks with quiet humor.

Lucy rolls her eyes. "If I say yes, will that piss you off?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Yes? I just sent Jericho to Church's in a moaning, bloody heap."

Lucy shakes her head. "Yeah, so? We drag his sorry ass to the clinic more times than I'd like to count. If he's not dissolving from alcohol poisoning he's drunk and jumping off of things for the hell of it. He does it to himself. This is just the first time in a while that someone else did it for him."

Gabriel sighs and leans against the railing next to Lucy. "I guess I've still got some figuring out to do in this town."

Lucy laughs and pats his shoulder gently. "It's okay. You did good down there, Gabriel. And you didn't kill him."

Gabriel laughs darkly. "Wanted to."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "And why didn't you?"

Gabriel shrugs. "I was raised better than that."

Lucy looks at him with admiration, something Gabriel finds distasteful. "You're a better person than most, Gabriel. Most people out here just wander through life, or at worst give into to their inhibitions. You're better than that."

Gabriel looks out over the town and sighs. "That doesn't mean much, Lucy. Not out here."

Lucy sighs and lays a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "You think too much, Mr. Matthews. Let's grab some grub from the Lantern."

Gabriel nods and follows Lucy down the catwalk. The smell of sizzling meat fills the air as they approach, something Gabriel has never smelled before.

It smells impossibly delicious.

Gabriel tries his best to keep from drooling in hunger as he realizes how long it's been since he has eaten anything. He takes a seat next to Lucy at the outdoor bar and watches as she waves over a red-haired woman in a yellow jumpsuit over.

The woman smiles at Lucy and gives her a warm handshake. "Good to see you, Lucy."

Lucy smiles back. "Thanks Jenny."

Jenny looks over at Gabriel and raises an eyebrow. "You sure you shouldn't be in the clinic, tough guy?" she asks with some concern. "I heard a bone or two crack when Jericho got in that lucky shot."

Gabriel manages a small grin. "Pain is weakness leaving the body, miss Jenny."

Jenny raises an eyebrow. "Jenny Stahl, tough guy. Do all of you vault kids talk so weird?"

Gabriel sighs. "No, unfortunately." He holds out a hand. "Gabriel Matthews. Glad to meet you, Ms. Stahl."

Jenny gives his hand a brisk, warm shake. "You too, tough guy. What'll it be?"

Gabriel looks down into a pouch on his utility belt. He has few caps remaining. "What's cheap and comes with a drink?"

Jenny smiles. "Well, tough guy, we've got a few things that fit the bill. The brahmin steak, noodle soup, and Insta-Mash are cheap. Drinks on the other hand aren't, all we have is purified water and a few bottles of Nuka-Cola. Food will run you five caps, and the drinks will run you ten."

Gabriel nods and sets his last fifteen caps on the bar. "Steak and water, please."

Lucy rolls her eyes. "You sure know how to be polite while using the fewest amount of words necessary, don't you?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Yes."

Lucy gives him a playful punch on the shoulder before nodding to Jenny. "I'll have the Insta-Mash and a Cola, please." She dumps her caps onto the bar.

Jenny scoops them up and drops them into a blue fanny pack at her waist. "Coming right up." She walks into the Lantern, and Gabriel can smell the meat cooking inside. His stomach growls with hunger.

Lucy laughs. "Ah, so there is a person under all that thick skin. He's just a hungry person."

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "And a broke person. Those were my last caps."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "You didn't sell the gear those raiders had?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "No, I was way to tired to even think about it. I'll go back after we eat, but I'm not really sure what I should scavenge. There was a lot of junk in that place."

A man suddenly appears in the empty seat next to Gabriel, grinning broadly from ear to ear. "Did somebody say junk?" he asks eagerly. His gray eyes shine with interest, framed by a mass of dirty brown hair that clings to his head in a sloppy mess. His garb is even stranger than his appearance; a long brown jacket covered in pockets and filled to the brim with a random assortment of metal bits, strange pieces of garbage, and random knickknacks that seem to cover his entire body. He raises an eyebrow as Gabriel looks at him with a confused look. "Well?" he says with embellishment, "I heard someone say junk. I'm looking to get intimate with some junk."

Lucy laughs and slaps her hand onto the counter. "Oh God," she laughs, "That line always gets me." She looks at the stranger, her face slightly red. "Didn't know you were in town, Wolfgang."

Wolfgang grins. "I'm anywhere there is junk to be taken advantage of, miss West." He turns to Gabriel and holds out a glove-covered hand. "Greetings, Sir or Madam. I am Crazy Wolfgang, proprietor of Crazy Wolfgang's traveling junk store. I am the Duke of Detritus, the Connoisseur of Crap, and I spend my restless days scouring the wastes to find the very best of the bits, the most wonderful waste, and the veritable pick of the litter."

Lucy nods. "He's not kidding, Gabriel. There isn't a better scavenger than Mr. Wolfgang here."

Gabriel shakes the hand after a moment of hesitation. "Gabriel. No fancy titles."

Wolfgang grins again and grasps Gabriel's shoulder. "No worries, good sir. I am sure that you will someday find yourself with so many titles that you won't know what to do with them! But back to my previous question, you said you knew where to find some junk?"

Gabriel nods. "Cleaned out a raider camp late last night, and I was too wounded to do any inventory. There was a lot of stuff; food, ammo, scrap, all sorts of things." An idea suddenly springs into Gabriel's mind. "And it's my claim. I cleared that place out, so anything in there belongs to me."

Wolfgang frowns suddenly. "Now hold on. I, being the Craziest of all possible Wolfgangs, am simply trying to strike a profitable accord. Surely we can find some common ground on the issue at hand?"

Gabriel pretends to ponder the option, even though he already has a plan in mind. "Fine," he says after a slight pause. "You teach me how to scavenge, and I let you have your pick of whatever we find in that school. Half and half; and that's my best offer."

Wolfgang grins with triumph. "Now that's more like it! You're a shrewd negotiator, my new-found apprentice, and I accept your offer with grace and humility." He places a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and locks eyes with the young man. "I swear, by all the crud I have ever dug out of the ground, and my fingernails, that I will teach you to scavenge like only a baron of basura ever could."

Gabriel gently brushes Wolfgang's hand off. "Thank you, Wolfgang. I look forward to it."

Wolfgang nods. "So when would you like to meet?"

Gabriel looks over at Lucy. "Give me ten minutes. Let me eat, and I'll meet you outside Megaton."

Wolfgang nods. "Of course, enjoy your banquet. Another will soon follow, one of profit!" He waves goodbye and walks up the hill towards Megaton's gate, the junk in his many pockets clanging and jangling as he goes.

Lucy laughs. "There goes one of the funniest and nicest characters you'll ever meet out here." She winks at Gabriel. "He's not really like that, you know. He just puts on airs to attract customers."

Gabriel nods. "Hell of a sales pitch."

Lucy laughs again, and Gabriel smiles. He likes the sound. "No kidding," she says with a smile. The door to the Brass Lantern opens and Jenny walks out, a tray of food and drinks in one hand. She places a bowl of Insta-Mash in front of Lucy and a simmering brahmin steak in front of Gabriel, followed by their respective drinks. Gabriel grabs a fork off the table and cuts a slice of the meat away with the side of the utensil. The meat practically drips off the bone. He raises the first bite of food to his lips, hesitating slightly.

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "You nervous?"

Gabriel sets the fork down. "A little. Never had brahmin before." He takes that first bite, his first bite of a new, unforgiving world.

Bliss.

Gabriel proceeds to tear through half of his steak with reckless abandon, pausing every so often to gulp down his water. He suddenly stops and turns to Lucy, who is patiently working her way through her Mash and savoring the flavors of the Nuka-Cola. "What the hell is a brahmin, anyway?" he asks.

Lucy points across the bar and past him. "That's a brahmin."

Gabriel turns and sees what Lucy is pointing at, a two-headed cow that is covered in sickly leathery skin that is red and wrinkled. The whole animal looks like it's been too close to the sun. He raises his eyebrows as one of the heads drinks from a bucket of water while the other brays into the air. Gabriel looks back down at his steak and shrugs.

"Hell," he says as he takes another, wonderful bite.

"Tastes too good for me to give a damn where it came from."

* * *

"Well now, you certainly made quite a mess, didn't you?"

Gabriel and Wolfgang prowl through the remains of Springvale school, combing through the raider's stash as they move. Wolfgang, assault rifle in hand, sifts through the corpses and rubble, going over each inch of the school with a practiced eye. "Most people wouldn't be able to take on an entire raider camp alone and walk away. It's impressive."

Gabriel shrugs and drops a few stimpacks into his rucksack. "I did what I had to."

Wolfgang nods and dumps a crate onto the floor. "You did those people a tremendous service, my young apprentice."

Gabriel sighs and pockets a few bullets for his hunting rifle. "Can we skip the praise and get to the lesson?"

Wolfgang nods. "Of course." He gestures at the pile of junk at his feet. "Lesson one; finding value. From this pile I want you to pick what is profitable and what isn't."

Gabriel looks down at the pile, illuminating the items with the light from his Pip-Boy. He scans over each of them, trying to discern which items are the most valuable. A paint gun. A toy car. An electrical conductor. A switchblade. A box of darts. Gabriel looks at each of them in turn before turning to Wolfgang. "The paint gun, conductor, and switchblade are the most valuable things in this pile."

Wolfgang smiles with triumph. "Not bad, apprentice. You got two out of three." He hefts the conductor and the paint gun and places them into his pack. "However," he says as he reaches down and takes the box of darts. "The switchblade isn't nearly as valuable as this box of darts."

Gabriel frowns. "What's so special about a box of darts?"

Wolfgang grins. "There are some very enterprising and talented individuals out there who, in the absence of regular firearms, found ways to create new, completely original weapons from the things they had access to. A dart gun is one of those weapons. These darts are ammunition; something that is inherently more valuable than most other things in the Wasteland."

"Medical supplies, weapons and ammo are more valuable than other things, aren't they?"

Wolfgang nods approvingly. "Most of the time, yes. Armor is valuable too, whether it's that raider scrap or a suit of power armor. However, there are some cons in salvaging armor, which brings us to lesson two; how much do you weigh?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "How much do I weigh? Seems like an odd question."

Wolfgang sighs. "It's important, one of the most important things you can take into consideration out here when you're scavenging."

Gabriel nods. "One-hundred and thirty-seven pounds, last time I checked." Gabriel's body is thin, to be sure, but is also strong and well-toned.

Wolfgang marks an imaginary check in the air. "And how much does your equipment weigh?"

Gabriel takes his armor, weapons and medical supplies into consideration. "I'd say no more than fifteen pounds."

Wolfgang beams. "Excellent. From the information you've given me I'd estimate you can carry around two-hundred pounds of junk before you are unable to carry any more. You always have to take into account what things weigh before you stick them into your pack or onto your back. I don't care if you find the single most valuable thing in the Wasteland; it's not going to do you much good if you can't carry it back with you. Armor is valuable, but weighty, meaning that you won't be able to carry as many small things. That's why I recommend you stick with lightweight things that can be sold quickly. If something is really valuable but you can't take it with you, you can always hide it until you can come back and get it."

Gabriel nods. "Makes sense." He walks over to another crate and yanks a few things out, sticking them into his pack.

Wolfgang approaches and looks inside the crate, raising an eyebrow as he appraises its contents. "Now I'm sure you're not leaving all this food and drink, my apprentice."

Gabriel sighs. "The water's irradiated, and the food's been here for at least two-hundred years."

Wolfgang laughs, much to Gabriel's surprise. "Lesson three, my apprentice. Food and drink are indispensable out in the Wasteland. Whether you're trading or getting supplies, there is always a use for food and drink."

"Even this?"

Wolfgang nods. "Of course. Those who came before us were masters at creating everlasting food. That nice bowl of mashed-potatoes Miss West had for lunch today came right out of a pre-war box. The food's good, my apprentice, as long as you can't smell the rot. As for the irradiated water, well, I dare you to find a water source in the Wasteland other than Megaton that has purified water."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that Megaton is the only source of purified water in the _entire_ Capital Wasteland?" The implications are staggering to Gabriel's mind.

Wolfgang nods. "As unfortunate as that sounds, yes. Not even Rivet City has their own source of purified water. Half the reason Megaton still exists is because it still has a working water purifier." He looks down at the food and drink in the crate. "That being said, anything someone can use, food, drink, medical supplies, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes; it's all valuable to someone. These things are light, useful, and therefore more often than not the things you are going to be taking from a scav site."

Gabriel nods and places the food and drink into his bag. "I think I get the basics. But we should probably move on. There's a lot more where this came from."

Wolfgang laughs, his jacket jingling as he does so. "Well said, my apprentice."

"Let's see what other wonderful treasures this place has to offer."

* * *

_**NOTES RECORDED TO PIP-BOY 3000**_

_** USER: GABRIEL MATTHEWS**_

_** CATEGORY: SCAVENGING**_

_** ENTRIES- FOUR (5)**_

_** RULE ONE (1):**_

_SCAVENGE ONLY WHAT HAS ASSURED VALUE. MEDICAL SUPPLIES. CONSUMABLES. TECHNOLOGY. ARMOR. WEAPONS AND AMMUNITION. LEAVE JUNK TO WOLFGANG AND OTHERS LIKE HIM UNLESS PROFIT IS ASSURED._

_ **RULE TWO (2):**_

_ SCAVENGE LIGHT. DO NOT BURDEN ONESELF WITH MASSES OF CHEAP GOODS OR HEAVY ITEMS. IF NEEDED, ONE CAN ALWAYS HIDE PROFITABLE GOODS AND COME BACK LATER._

_ **RULE THREE (3): **_

_ LOOK EVERYWHERE. GO BEYOND THE OBVIOUS. GO BEYOND WHAT CAN BE SEEN. POKE THROUGH EVERY CRATE, EVERY CORPSE. VALUE IS EVERYWHERE. _

_ **RULE FOUR (4): **_

_ SELL WHERE NEEDED. SELL MEDICAL SUPPLIES TO PHYSICIANS, CLINICS, SELL AMMO TO WEAPONS DEALERS, AND SELL MISC. GOODS TO ANYONE ELSE. CUT OUT THE MIDDLE MAN. SELL TO THE SOURCE._

_ **RULE FIVE (5):** _

_ ALWAYS REMEMBER TO WALK AWAY WITH MORE VALUE THAN YOU'VE BROUGHT TO THE TABLE._

_** END NOTES**_

* * *

After a few hours of scavenging, Gabriel waves goodbye to Wolfgang and heads back into Megaton. His time with the professional scavenger has been illuminating and well-spent; with all the gear he's collected, Gabriel is certain his money won't dry out for a while.

After selling the supplies; a mixture of consumables, old tech, and some weapons, Gabriel finds himself looking at the bomb that is Megaton's namesake. The pre-war, Chinese nuke rests quietly at the bottom of the crater, a monument of a war long past and peoples long since turned to ash.

Gabriel sighs. _If there is a God, He's probably laughing his ass off right now. Sadistic bastard._

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Gabriel turns and locks eyes with a man in a white suit. The man's face is somehow cruel, even hidden beneath a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and a pre-war hat. "It is a marvelous thing," the man says casually, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket and lighting it with the flick of a match. Gabriel notes with some concern the 10mm pistol at the man's side. It is fitted with a large and foreboding silencer.

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

The man laughs darkly. "Oh, I do apologize. I tend to get lost in though now and then." The man holds out a hand. "My name is Mr. Burke."

Gabriel doesn't shake the proffered hand. "And what were you thinking about, Mr. Burke?"

Mr. Burke grins. "Why, I was merely commenting on the beauty of such a relic. Our ancestors spent their entire lives killing each other. They finally achieved transcendence with that weapon right there." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "The sheer power of that weapon, it simply blows the mind. None can truly understand what kind of forces are at work within such a device, without witnessing them firsthand." He looks at Gabriel eagerly. "Just try to imagine what it would be like."

Gabriel looks at the bomb, Burke's eloquence fueling the image that comes to mind.

A mushroom cloud, set against a black night, rises with hellish fury, staining the sky with red and orange light. Part of him revels in the image; the spectacular application of human ingenuity and brilliance, and also the massive display of power.

Gabriel shivers.

Burke nods. "It is frightening, isn't it?"

Gabriel nods slowly. "Horrifying. I'm glad it's a dud."

Burke grins like a shark. "Not a dud, my boy. Only the proverbial volcano; dormant until the correct stimulus comes along."

Gabriel's eyes widen. "The bomb is active? Nobody told me."

Burke shrugs. "They've lived with this bomb in the middle of their town for decades. They worship it, or they ignore it. None of them understand the potential behind such a marvelous creation."

Gabriel frowns. "It's not marvelous, Burke. This thing, and so many others like it, nearly damned our species to extinction."

Burke laughs. "Ha! You say that like humanity isn't damned. This existence that we've been left with, it's almost like God is laughing at us."

Gabriel shakes his head. "We're not done yet, Mr. Burke. Humanity still has a chance. We'll make due with the cards we've been dealt. That's just the way humanity is."

Burke snorts in contempt. "Ignorant optimism. What humanity _needs_ is someone who is willing to make the hard choices that people don't want to make. We need a fresh start, something that our children will look back on and thank us for. We need to clean out the human garbage if we're ever going to find our lost glory."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow and looks at the bomb. "So the ends justify the means? Cynical of you. Not sure I agree. I sure as hell don't agree with this method." He gestures at the bomb.

"But isn't it impressive? You can't disagree with that."

Gabriel shrugs. "I suppose. The concepts behind explosives haven't really changed over the years. Whether it's a grenade, landmine, or this monstrosity, the idea is basically the same. All you need is the right reaction."

Burke hides his triumph. "You have some experience with explosives, then?"

"I know enough, and it's probably more than most people out here."

Burke laughs darkly. "I'm sure it is. These imbeciles couldn't tell you the ass end of a brahmin from the head." Gabriel frowns at Burke's insult.

"Not sure I like your tone, Mr. Burke. It's rather contemptuous."

Burke tilts his head to one side and grins like a shark. "Oh, my dear boy, I really don't give a damn what you think. I just need you to do me a favor. You'll get paid, and I'll get what I want. Then we can go our separate ways."

Gabriel sighs. "Figured you were working some kind of angle."

Burke laughs, a dark, unnerving sound. "Shrewd, aren't you? Very well, let me get to the point. This town, this... Megaton," he practically spits the word out, "is a blight on the Wasteland's existence. There are certain individuals who would like to see this particular tumor... removed from the equation. These individuals have instructed me to use any means necessary to complete this task, and those means happen to include hiring outside help."

Gabriel rounds on Burke, now on the alert. "You... you want me to destroy this town? You don't even know who I am."

Burke laughs condescendingly. "On the contrary, Mr. Matthews, I know enough about you to suit my needs. You're a young man from the nearby vault, which makes you instantly more intelligent than these complacent imbeciles. In answer to your question, no, I don't want you to destroy the town. That is what I was paid to do." Burke pulls a small, flat device out of his jacket and holds it out to Gabriel. "What I want you to do is rig the bomb with this fusion pulse charge. Once you have completed said task I will pay 500 caps for your services. After that, well..." Burke grins madly. "I would suggest you create some distance between yourself and this town. Oh, and cover your eyes. What follows will be brighter than bright."

Gabriel looks at Burke's face and down to the fusion pulse charge in his hand. So many lives against so much profit. His eyes narrow as he realizes what he has to do.

Gabriel takes the device.

Burke grins savagely. "Good, good. Now just-" Burke cuts off as Gabriel drops the charge to the ground and blasts it with his laser pistol, turning the intricate machine into a pile of ash with a single shot.

Gabriel looks up at Burke, his eyes filled with anger and determination.

"No way in hell would I ever help someone like you."

* * *

"No way in hell."

Knight Captain Dusk looks down the sight of her .308 sniper rifle and shakes her head. "No way, Sentinel. I don't know what kind of angle you think you've got, but there's no way in hell you can make that shot. He's got to be at least 300 yards away."

From her sniping position next to Dusk, Sarah holds her breath and pulls the trigger of her sniper rifle. The super mutant in the scope suddenly screams as its left leg explodes in a mass of gore. Sarah turns to Dusk, a smile on her face. "No way in hell?"

Dusk rubs the back of her neck. Her helmet is off for a change, revealing the stern face, silver eyes, and long black hair that most of her Brothers and Sisters never see. She sighs and looks down her scope at the fresh corpse. "You get damn lucky sometimes, Sentinel; I'll give you that."

Sarah smiles quietly at the compliment. Dusk is the best shot in the Pride, and subsequently the Brotherhood, and is only rivaled by Colvin in terms of accuracy. Any compliment from Dusk is rare, and is treated with a specific kind of appreciation. "Thank you, Dusk. I'll take that one with a grain of salt."

Dusk shrugs. "Whatever you say, Sentinel. I'm just here to kill muties."

Sarah looks down her scope again. The Sentinel and her sniper lie prone on the Citadel ramparts, one of the few places Sarah ever finds any real peace. The irradiated waters of what remains of the Potomac river gleam in the light of the day, a peaceful contrast to the utter devastation around it. The entire city of Washington DC has been reduced to a mass of crumbling buildings and war-torn streets. Gunfire chatters off in the distance; a battle being waged far off. Sarah knows who it is; super mutants, Talon Company mercs, or any number of lesser wicked groups. Every evil faction in the Wastes is looking to carve out a slice of the DC ruins for themselves; so far only Talon Company and the super mutants have been successful in the long run. Sarah pushes the thought of enemies from her mind; she is here to relax.

Sniping from the ramparts has been a pastime of theirs for many years, and has given Dusk and Sarah, the only two women in the Pride, a chance to bond as soldiers as well as friends. Though she would never admit it, the rooftop sniping is one of Sarah's favorite pastimes, especially when the targets are plentiful.

They aren't so plentiful today.

"Nothing else in the scope, Sentinel," Dusk says quietly. "Looks like your mutie and that raider band are all we're going to get today."

Sarah sighs and stands, prompting Dusk to do the same. "We got what we could. That's what's important."

Dusk shrugs and puts her helmet on. "Too bad some other bunch of baddies are just going to take their places tomorrow, though. Sometimes I kinda want these morons to stay gone, you know?"

Sarah nods. "I know it seems tough, but we'll beat them back. The Pride always comes out on top."

"Yes ma'am," Dusk says with pride, "I've always got your back, Sentinel. You name it, I'll shoot it."

Sarah smiles. For a moment, Cleric isn't on her mind. "Glad to hear it, Knight Captain."

"Our list of enemies isn't getting any shorter."

* * *

"You just made a dangerous enemy today, boy."

Burke glares at Gabriel. A slight gust sends a smattering ashes from the fusion pulse generator into the pool of water around the bomb. "You have no idea what kind of shit you've just gotten yourself into." Burke's hand slowly travels up his leg and towards the pistol at his side.

Gabriel raises the laser pistol. "You try anything, Burke, and this town will rip you to shreds. These people don't take kindly to murder."

Burke growls. "It's not murder, you idiot. It's culling the chattel. These vermin are useless eaters, good for nothing whatsoever. Idealistic fools like you will be the death of this Wasteland, and everyone in it."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "Shut up. This town is under my protection, Burke. Your plans here are finished. Get the hell out before I call Simms over to throw you out."

Burke doesn't budge. "Protection?" he asks incredulously, "You're protecting this godforsaken waste? Why? You've been here all of two days. You owe these people nothing."

"Wrong. I owe these people the same hospitality they've shown me. You on the other hand are about to get a laser blast to the face. Leave," Gabriel takes a menacing step forward, "Now."

Burke sighs and lowers his arm. "Fine, have it your way. This place could have been spared a gruesome death if you had cooperated. But I'm sure these fine people will thank you when they realize that the horrific demise that will soon befall them is all your fault." He turns and walks up the hill towards Megaton's gate, not looking back.

Gabriel sighs and holsters his pistol, turning back to the bomb.

A sharp pain in his back sends him sprawling to the ground, gasping for breath. He knows he's been shot, but it doesn't help the pain. He rolls over onto his back, drawing his laser pistol with a weak arm, and looks up the hill just in time to see Sheriff Simms chasing Burke off with a spray of gunfire. Burke nimbly dodges the assault and sprints out of town; Gabriel can hear the crack of Stockholm's sniper rifle as he attempts to put down the madman.

Gabriel drops the pistol in weakness as black begins to blur the corners of his vision. He sees Lucy and Jenny rush over to him, shouting words he can't hear. He can no longer feel the pain, and it makes him laugh a little. He looks up at Lucy's face and reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, smiling weakly as he does so. "Hey now," he whispers, "Got shot. Not a big deal." His vision begins to fade. He collapses and manages one last whisper before darkness takes him.

"Don't be upset."

* * *

"I don't see why you're so upset with him, Sentinel."

Greg Bear, aka Paladin Kodiak looks up from his bowl of pre-war noodles and over at Sarah, who is idly stirring a bowl of Sugar Bombs in brahmin milk with her spoon. "Your father is only trying to help, and he's got a point. You shouldn't be so damn hard on him, or yourself."

Sarah frowns at Kodiak. He has an honest face, his dark skin framing a pair of soft brown eyes and a half-smile. Always the professional, Kodiak's black hair is shaved close to his head, the standard for most members of the Brotherhood. "I'm being as hard on myself as I need to be," she tells Kodiak. "Cleric's death was my fault. It's up to me to make sure that I don't make the same mistakes, and that means I can't forget the people who died because of them."

Kodiak sighs. Out of all the members of the Pride, Kodiak has always been the most compassionate, understanding, and well-rounded. When Sarah needs a stealth op done, she goes to Gallows. When she needs something sniped, she goes to Colvin or Dusk. When she needs an initiate yelled at, she goes to Vargas. When she wants something blown up, she goes to Glade.

When she needs someone to talk to, she goes to Kodiak.

He sighs. "Not what I meant and you know it. I'm not saying that you forget Cleric, or what happened to him. But you have to recognize the danger in dwelling too much on his death. We're your Pride, Sarah. We loose as much as you do when you're distracted, or when you second guess yourself."

Sarah sighs. In truth she has always been a little in awe of Kodiak. Born in some irradiated hellhole called the Pitt in the northwest, he had been rescued by the Brotherhood at a young age and trained as an Initiate. He had ascended through the ranks quickly, nearly as quickly as Sarah had, and become a Paladin less than a year after receiving his Knighthood and armor. The two had grown up together, and have been longtime friends since their childhood days. Add to that Kodiak's natural battlefield patience and all around versatility, and it had been an easy decision to choose Kodiak for her squad when Sarah had first formed the Pride all those years ago.

Still, their close friendship makes it easy for Kodiak to read Sarah's state of mind.

"I'm not distracted, Greg," she says angrily. She only ever calls the Paladin by his first name when they're alone, or when she's mad at him. "I'm just pissed."

Kodiak nods. "Got that much. This can't just be about Cleric or the Elder, Sarah. What's eating you?"

Sarah sighs. "It's hard, you know? We've been fighting for years to make this Wasteland a better place, and sometimes it feels like any good we do just gets swallowed up in all the hate out here."

Kodiak takes a quiet sip from a bottle of water. "We do what we can, Sentinel," he says after a moment. "Without us the muties would have overrun the entire Wasteland by now. It's not perfect, but it's all we can do."

Sarah clenches her teeth in anger. "And it's killing us off, Greg. Slowly but surely we're dying off, and everyone wants to deny it. Hell, when Casdin-"

Kodiak holds up a hand. "That's where I cut you of, Sentinel. I stand by the Elder's decree. That name is not to be said within the Citadel. He is Outcast."

Sarah looks down at her bowl. "I know. I'm just tired. I'm tired of watching my friends die or leave, I'm tired of fighting a war we can't win, and I'm tired of being tired."

Kodiak nods. "I understand, Sentinel. Doubt is natural. But I have faith in you, and I have faith in the Pride, and I have faith in the Brotherhood. We'll find a way, Sentinel." His eyes shine with determination, pure and honest.

"Just watch," he tells her.

"Something will come up."

* * *

"Karma's a bitch, huh?"

Gabriel sits up groggily, his vision blurry and his back alight with pain. He winces and sits up, sliding his legs over the medical cot he's currently resting on. He rubs his eyes and looks at the cot across the room. Jericho, his good arm resting comfortably behind his head, laughs at Gabriel from the cot. "You gotta admit," he says, his voice slightly nasal from the broken nose, "this whole situation's pretty fuckin' funny."

Gabriel's eyes narrow as he tries to stand. It is difficult. "What situation? What's going on?"

Jericho laughs again and leans back in his cot. "Hell, kid, you've brought the wrath of Talon Company down on our heads. This town is fucked because of you."

"Talon Company? The merc group?"

Jericho nods and closes his eyes. "Only the biggest bunch of psychos in the Wasteland. You think raiders are a problem? If Talon wants you dead, you're fucking dead, no way around it. And thanks to that little stunt you pulled, Talon is going to bring the wrath'a fuckin' god down on our heads."

Gabriel stands and sees his weapons in a far corner of the room. He limps over, a hand clutching the small of his back. "Burke, right?"

Jericho nods. "Kid, the guy you got shot by is Talon Company's biggest employer. He hires them for just about anything he can't do himself, and Burke can do a lot by himself."

"You know Burke?"

Jericho sighs. "I wasn't always in this town. Used to be a real bastard back in the day; killin', rapin' the whole nine yards. Had a whole crew of raiders doin' shit for me. Then one day Burke walks in, says he wants to recruit me for Talon. Laughed in his face. Told him no. That night fuckin Talon strolls into my camp and kills everyone but me. Burke beat me to shit, left me to die. That man gets what he wants, or he blows it to shit. Sometimes they're the same thing."

"And why didn't you say anything?" Gabriel asks angrily, "You must have known he was here. Why didn't you report him to Simms?"

Jericho spits. "Kid, I might not be the smartest fuck in the Wasteland, but I'm not the dumbest either. I'm not about to stick out my neck out just because some shithead that wasted my life may or may not be doin' something wrong."

Gabriel spits in contempt and checks the energy cell on his laser pistol. "Burke tried to get me to rig the bomb. He wants to destroy the town."

Jericho's eyes go wide. "Fuckin' nuke? Christ on a stick..." Jericho turns to Gabriel. "You'd better let the Sheriff know bout' Burke's plan. He's out with Moriarty, Stockholm, and Doc Church trying to figure out what to do."

Gabriel straps the hunting rifle to his back and looks at Jericho. "We could use your help, Jericho."

Jericho laughs. "Kid, you broke my fuckin' arm. I'm about as useful to this town as a dead brahmin." Jericho grins up from his cot. "Hell, but have fun trying to take Talon Company. You survive, and I might have to respect your ass."

Gabriel sighs and walks to the clinic door for the third time today. "I don't plan on dying, Jericho." He looks back angrily.

"And I don't want your goddamn respect."

* * *

"I'll assume you all understand the plan."

Burke looks over the group of Talon Company mercs. His sunglasses glint in the light of the dying sun as he points towards Megaton. The Talon, all dressed in matching blue combat armor with the white Talon insignia on the front, load their weapons and check their equipment. They are well-equipped and ready for action. Burke respects their precision, and their brutality.

Their intelligence, on the other hand, leaves much to be desired.

"And remember," he says, "Leave none alive. After the town is clear, I'll rig the bomb to explode."

One of the Talon raises a hand. "Didn't you say you couldn't detonate the bomb yourself?"

Burke's eyes narrow. "Did I allow you to speak?"

"No, but-"

Burke calmly and quickly draws his pistol and cuts the Talon off with a quiet bullet in his left eye. The other Talons shift uneasily, but make no move. More money for them now that Biff is gone. Burke sighs and holsters the pistol.

"Let me make this perfectly clear. The town dies, no questions. Every man, woman and child." He glares at the remaining nineteen Talons. "Any more questions?"

Silence.

"Good. Ready yourselves. We attack at nightfall."

* * *

"Stockholm says they'll probably attack at nightfall."

Simms sighs and shakes his head. "Not long now. Another hour and they'll be all over us. And we don't have the men or firepower to stop them. I'm just glad we spotted them when we did."

Moriarty shrugs. "We've got the walls, I say we hold them off here."

Simms shakes his head. "You know how Talon works. First they'll pin us down with the big guns, then send in their skirmishers and shotgun guys to finish the job. Holding just isn't an option."

Church rubs his forehead in angst. "Well whatever we do, we need a plan."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Simms, Church and Moriarty look over at Gabriel, who is slowly working his way up the incline. He winces with each step, but he makes it up the hill with little effort. "I hear we've got Talon Company coming down on our heads."

Moriarty scoffs. "Well, if it ain't the boy who pissed off that bastard Burke. This is your fault, you bleedin' fool."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "Burke wanted to destroy this town by detonating the bomb. I destroyed the thing that was going to set it off. Shut the hell up."

Simms eyes go wide. "He wanted to blow the bomb? Jesus..."

Church sighs. "Always knew that damn church of Cromwell's was going to bite us in the ass someday."

Moriarty strokes his beard. "Well then, that changes things."

Simms nods. "If he wants to detonate the bomb, he'll have to get through us."

Gabriel shakes his head. "It won't be enough. They have us out-gunned, and out-numbered. We need an advantage." An idea suddenly forms in his mind. "Simms, do we have any explosives?"

Simms raises an eyebrow. "You say they're trying to set off the bomb and you want to bring out explosives?"

"Not for here. If you have any landmines I can lay out a defensive perimeter just outside the gate. That's the only way they can get into the town, right? We lure them in close and let the mines do most of the work. Afterward we can mop up what's left and I'll disarm the explosives."

Church is quiet for a moment. "It's a plan, and it's better than anything I've heard. I say we give it a shot."

Moriarty nods. "I agree, despite my dislike for this particular bastard. Simms, get the damn armory open."

Simms sighs. "I suppose we don't have much choice." He turns to Gabriel. "You've got about an hour; I hope your plan works. If it doesn't, well, we'll all suffer for it." Simms holds out a worn, rusted key. "This will get you into the armory. Take what you need, but be careful."

Gabriel nods. "I understand Sheriff. You should tell Stockholm to take cover and keep out of sight. I want them lulled into a sense of ease and complacency."

Simms nods. "I'll get the folks with firepower together up in the railings. They get into the town, and we'll tear them apart."

Gabriel smiles grimly. "Good."

"I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

"You aren't coming to the shelter?"

Lucy gives Gabriel a worried look as he takes another handful of landmines out of the armory. "Can't. Talon are going to be here soon, and we don't have enough people ready to fight for me to just hide and wait it out."

"But your injuries..." she says hurridly, "Don't you think you should-"

Gabriel turns to her, a stern look on his face. "I'll be fine, Lucy. Don't worry about it."

Lucy crosses her arm, an annoyed look on her face. "Don't worry about it? You could get killed!"

Gabriel shrugs. "We could all get killed. If I have to die to fix this mess I made, so be it. I'm just sorry I put everyone in danger. You guys have enough problems without having to deal with mine."

Lucy's face softens and she places a hand on his shoulder. "They don't have to be just your problems, Gabriel," she says softly.

Gabriel places his hand on hers, and she draws close and kisses him with soft, trembling lips. He kisses her back, but there isn't anything more than instinct behind the gesture. He breaks off suddenly and looks away, his eye tired and angry. "I have to go." He turns and walks away.

She calls after him. "Be careful."

He stops and looks back, a tired smile on his face.

"Sure."

* * *

Nightfall.

There's something about it that makes Burke relish in his own existence. The rush of cold air, the stars, the howls of night predators, all these things entice him in a way he can't truly describe.

And now he is the night predator.

Total Badass.

He watches from a hillside overlooking Megaton as his hirelings charge up the path to the gate. As the close in, Burke waits in silence for the tell-tale crack of a sniper rifle, knowing that their sniper is sure to take a few of the mercs down before they reach the gate and put him down.

Nothing.

A slight frown appears on Burke's face. Are they really that lucky? Wait... something isn't right.

The robot.

The damned Protectron that usually sits outside the town is missing.

Trap.

Burke grabs the radio at his belt and presses the button with angry haste. "Hold!" he shouts.

Burke watches as the Talon rear guard, a total of six men, disappears in a flash. The remaining Talon charge forwards and away from the blast and up towards the main gate, firing as they go. Their bullets find no targets but the thick metal walls of the town, and Burke's orders over the radio are lost in the tide of gunfire.

A second series of explosions erupt as the Talon reach the gate, wiping out another four mercs. A few additional explosives go off, startling the already tense mercs into a frenzy. One of them, wielding a laser rifle and a bag of explosives, screams and rushes towards the gate, ignoring the deaths of those around him. He tosses the explosives at the base of the gate, tears a detonator from his belt and hits the button.

Megaton's gate disappears in a blast of fire and smoke. Burke can see the remaining Talon pour through the new opening, screaming wild obscenities and firing short, controlled bursts. Burke smiles at the success of his charge. He lights a cigarette and waits for the inevitable slaughter.

"Almost there," he breathes, taking in the smoke.

* * *

"Almost there."

Gabriel watches from a rooftop as the Talon mercs, only half of their original number, run down the hill and into the center of town, their weapons ready. They scan the area for targets but find none; the young, old, helpless or unwilling are all in the commons building up on the other side of town. They've got Deputy Weld and a man by the name of Billy Creel guarding them. It's not the safest place, but it's out of the way.

Gabriel looks across the rooftops and over to Stockholm, who nods. The defenders, Stockholm, Moriarty, Simms and Gabriel among them are spread across the rooftops, weapons trained on the Talon mercs. There are only six of them in all, but their superior vantage points and the element of surprise will add an extra edge to the fight. Gabriel gives Stockholm the signal.

Thumbs down.

The defenders open fire, splitting the calming night with the sound of gunfire. Two of the Talon mercs drop instantly, their bodies falling to the dirt. The rest of the Talon spread out and attempt to take cover positions among the buildings. Gabriel sights one of them with his rifle and places a shot into the merc's throat, putting him down. Moriarty tosses a grenade into a nearby alley where two mercs have taken cover and grins with satisfaction as the explosive rips them to pieces. Stockholm, doing what he does best, drops a merc with a skillful head-shot. Simms, using his rifle with precision and patience, mows a pair of mercs down with controlled bursts. The other defenders chew a Talon apart with blasts from pistols and assault weapons.

The final Talon scrambles back up the hill to Megaton's gate. Stockholm sights the merc, but Gabriel holds up a hand.

"He's mine."

Gabriel stands, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and sights down the barrel of his .32. His grip is solid, his breath even, and a single thought pulses through his mind; the rhythm of it beating a tattoo against his skull

_Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing. Timing._

The merc reaches the crest of the hill.

_Time._

He pulls the trigger, and watches the merc's head explode in a crack of gunfire.

Even in the darkness, he can see Stockholm raise an eyebrow. Gabriel pulls back the slide on his rifle, a pained smile on his face. "Timing, Stocky."

"It's all about timing."

* * *

Timing.

He had assumed the time had come. He had assumed that the Vault boy would take his offer.

So many assumptions.

He had assumed that nightfall had been the right time. He had assumed that Talon would be the right choice. He had assumed the chattel wouldn't put up a fight.

So many assumptions.

Burke takes a disappointed drag from his cigarette. Too much has gone wrong. Using others has proven non-profitable. He takes the cigarette from his lips and holds it between his fingers, admiring the glow.

"When you want something done right."

Burke puts out the smoke in the palm of his hand. He relishes in the pain.

No more assumptions. No more distractions. When you want something done right.

He tosses the cigarette aside, his face hard and cruel. "Finish it yourself."

* * *

"You just about finished?"

Gabriel sighs and looks up at Simms, kneeling in radioactive water. "It would go a lot faster if you didn't ask me that every other second."

Simms and takes a step back. "Sorry, son. It's just, well-"

Gabriel nods. "Yeah, I know. Vault never gave me a guide on how to dismantle an atomic bomb."

Simms scratches the back of his head. "Then you sure you want to do this? It's not like the damn thing has ever been a problem beforehand."

Gabriel, naked from the waist up, goes back to working on the circuitry in Megaton's bomb. The bomb hums dimly as Gabriel works, underlining the danger of his task. The stitches from the bullet wound in his back pull taut as he works, causing him to wince intermittently. He uses his Pip-Boy light to illuminate the interior components of the bomb. The majority of his gear, including a newly-acquired AER9 laser rifle, sits on the embankment nearby. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, though it will be a few more hours before anyone else is really awake.

Simms rubs his hands together as Gabriel clips a few wires. "All I'm saying is that the bomb hasn't done anything to give us pause. Hell, Cromwell and his cronies worship the damn thing."

Gabriel nods. "It hasn't done anything _yet_, Sheriff," Gabriel says as he works. "We got the Talon, but Burke is still out there. I'm not going to give him the chance to finish the job." Gabriel disconnects a wire with a pair of small scissors. "As for Cromwell, I don't put much say in the words of men who stand in irradiated water and rant all damn day."

Simms covers a laugh with a gruff cough. "Fair enough." He watches Gabriel work for a moment, and the two men allow silence to fill the space. "You're a good sort, Mr. Matthews."

Gabriel doesn't stop working. "Not really, Sheriff."

Simms raises an eyebrow. "Son, if you weren't a good person you wouldn't be helping us as much as you have been."

Gabriel snips another wire. "I'll take your word for it."

Simms' brow furrows. "You don't think so?"

Gabriel sighs. "Not doing this for you, Simms."

"Then what are you doin' this for."

Gabriel shrugs. "Boredom, mostly. Some of it is to appease a sense of morality that's been burned into my brain since childhood. Some of it is just the drive to keep busy. It could be a way of coping with such a recent change in environment and all this death I've been dealing. Maybe I'm on some stupid quest." He stops and looks up at Simms, his blue eyes tinged with fatigue. "I'm not really sure why I'm helping," he says quietly, "But if I were you, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Simms looks confused. "What's a horse, son?"

Gabriel sighs and goes back to the bomb. "Right, no horses. Goddamn radiation."

Simms raises an eyebrow. "Alright then. I'll leave you be. Might as well spend these next few tentative hours in my own home." He nods at Gabriel. "Thank you, for everything you've done for us. Just do me a favor and don't blow us all to hell, okay?" Simms walks up the incline to his house, whistling slowly and quietly as he goes. Gabriel continues his work on the bomb, ignoring the bite of the radioactive water that soaks his legs.

"Irony."

Gabriel turns with a start, drawing his laser pistol in one fluid motion. A soft '_thwap' _breaks the air and the pistol is ripped from his hands. A second _'thwap' _tears into Gabriel's shoulder and sends him sprawling into the pool around the bomb.

"It's ironic," Burke says calmly as he prowls forward, his silenced pistol in hand. "We started here, and we will end here." He walks over to Gabriel, his shoes sloshing in the water. He kneels close to Gabriel, his eyes cold and dark behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "It is a shame, Mr. Matthews. Your company, while counter-productive to my efforts in this shithole, was the most refreshing and intelligent sort of company I have had in years. We could have done great things." He holsters his pistol before reaching down and grabbing Gabriel by the throat, lifting him off of the ground. Gabriel flails weakly in Burke's grip as the man slowly tightens his hold. "I thank you, however," he says as he presses his fingers deeper into Gabriel's skin, "Opening the bomb as you have makes my job so much simpler." He pulls C4 charge out of his jacket. "This device will allow me to detonate the bomb in a much more... traditional manner." Burke grins. "It's as you said, you know. All about appropriate stimuli." Gabriel utters something incoherent and Burke pulls him closer, a mocking grin on his face. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Gabriel's words are weak. "Knife."

Gabriel's knife flashes and Burke cries out in pain at the fresh cut in his arm. He drops Gabriel into the water and curses, fumbling for his pistol. Gabriel kicks Burke's legs out from under him and knocks the pistol out of reach. Burke snarls and scrambles to his feet, barely dodging a swipe of Gabriel's knife. Burke's arm flashes out and twists the knife from Gabriel's grip, sending it flying. Gabriel breaks free of Burke's grip and stumbles back against the bomb, breathing heavily.

Burke wastes no time, rushing Gabriel and smashing his head against the side of the bomb. Gabriel staggers and attempts a series of clumsy blows, all of which Burke blocks or dodges. Gabriel knows that his efforts are futile at best; his injuries have decimated any chance of a level playing field when it comes to a fist-fight.

Burke knows this too, and a victorious smile splits his hateful face. He blocks another of Gabriel's strikes and grabs the young man by his shirt, throwing him into the murky water around the bomb. Burke grabs Gabriel by the hair and forces his head under the water. His eyes sparkle with sadistic delight as Gabriel flounders in the shallow waters, unable to surface for air.

"Irony," Burke breathes, his body tingling with pleasure. Death is always so exciting. "Sweet delicious irony." His eyes are red with gleeful hate as he watches Gabriel's struggles begin to weaken.

"Fucker!"

Burke half-turns just before Jericho barrels into him, throwing him off Gabriel with his good arm. Gabriel surfaces with a coughing gasp and watches as the ex-raider attempts to fend Burke off with only one good arm and all the hate he can muster. Gabriel paws weakly at the muddy water as he pulls himself towards the nearest weapon, Burke's pistol. His vision begins to blur. He can dimly make out the sound of combat between Burke and Jericho as he crawls, the pistol at the front of his mind. He reaches out with a shaking hand, fumbling with the weapon.

"Nice try, boy."

A kick in the ribs sends Gabriel sprawling and moaning with pain. Burke reaches down and grabs his pistol, looking down at Gabriel with distaste. Nearby, Jericho lays defeated in the dirt, blood flecking the corners of his mouth. He walks over to Jericho with a snarl and raises his pistol one-handed. Gabriel stands and lunges at Burke, throwing off his aim and sending his shot wide. Burke pounds Gabriel's bullet wound with the heavy pistol, causing him to cry out in pain. Burke kicks him aside and points points the pistol at Gabriel's chest, his eyes filled with dark intent. "This game is done, boy. I've wasted too much energy on you." He pulls the trigger.

Nothing.

Gabriel laughs softly at the look on Burke's face as his pistol fails to deliver death. He stands slowly and holds up something shiny and metallic in a trembling hand.

Burke's clip.

"Need this?" Gabriel says tiredly, a weak grin plastered on his face. Burke snarls and rushes forward, intent on putting the boy down once and for all.

Hot pain flashes in Burke's mind as Gabriel's knife flashes past, grazing his hateful face. Gabriel drops to one knee as Burke reaches him, getting a good look at the man's dumbstruck expression as he stumbles over the boy. Burke falls into the water around the bomb, cursing as it soaks his once-immaculate suit. He stands, water dripping off of him, and stops dead as he catches sight off Gabriel, laser rifle aimed at his heart. "Guess what?" he pants.

"Karma's a bitch."

The shot from the rifle is lightning fast, but Gabriel sees the whole spectacle in slow-motion. The beam strikes Burke, who can't even cry out in pain before it spreads across his torso and engulfs him in lethal energy. The orange glow disintegrates Burke in the time it takes Gabriel to blink, but it is a sight the young wanderer will remember for the rest of his life. All of Burke disappears in a flash of light, leaving only a pile of ash behind. Something plops into the water, and Gabriel limps forward to find it.

Burke's sunglasses.

Gabriel laughs weakly and retrieves the tortoiseshell glasses from the water, putting them over his own eyes. He looks over at Jericho, who is battered, but still breathing. He'll be fine. Gabriel's legs suddenly grow weak, and he looks over at the open panel on the bomb. He stumbles to the panel and reaches inside, grasping the final wire with a tired hand. One final snip with the scissors.

The bomb goes silent.

Gabriel falls to his knees, letting darkness take him. As his vision fades, a triumphant smile lights on his face. He whispers softly, laughing at his survival.

"Total badass."

* * *

**LM here,**

**Yeah, I know it's been a while. Shalom.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this one, it was a hell of a departure from what I originally intended. I was going to make the Gabriel/Burke confrontation something fast and hard before realizing that I wanted it to be drawn out, uncertain, and bloody as hell. **

**Lucy West doesn't have much importance in-game, but I decided that having Gabriel mope around with nobody to cuddle for the first couple of chapters would be agonizingly inhuman. Lucy is cute, she's blonde, and better yet, she's a half-decent person. Good setup for Sarah, at least in my opinion.**

**I loved writing the scenes with Sarah and the Pride, along with Elder Lyons. Kodiak is awesome, same with Dusk, and Elder Lyons is quite possibly one of the best characters I've ever had the pleasure of writing.**

**Crazy Wolfgang, I can't express how much fun that lousy junkman is to write. Thank you Bethesda for giving me such a wonderful character to work with.**

**And for those of you who want to know, my in-game LW, by the time he was level 30 (XBOX 360), had perfect stats all across the board, and had a 100% skill rating in everything except for big guns and barter.**

**As always, R&R!**

**LM**


	5. Perhaps A New Life

Perhaps... A New Life

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything in the Fallout universe. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Paradise Circus by Massive Attack. God Bless Massive Attack.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Gallantmon228. Hope you're enjoying the game, my friend. :)**

* * *

A glimpse of the past:

* * *

_James looks down at his son, prideful tears welling under his eyes. "Well son?" he asks quietly, "What do you think of your new home?"_

_ Baby Gabriel yawns as he stretches out in his crib, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling as he does so. James laughs and gently pets the swath of black hair on his son's small head. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm pretty tired myself." James looks around the room and sighs. "It's not perfect," he says with real regret, "but it's home. This place is safe. That's what I want for you. Safety. Security. I want you to grow up in a world where you don't have to starve, where you don't have to fear anything. I want you to live well and be happy. As much... as much as it pains me to says so, the world outside isn't safe. It will probably never be safe, no matter..." James chokes back a tear, "No matter what your mother and I ever would have accomplished. I don't want that life for you. I don't want that life for Catherine's child. I don't want that life for my son."_

_ Gabriel gurgles laughter and reaches for his father, oblivious to the severity in James' voice. James smiles weakly. "No rest for the wicked, then?" Gabriel giggles again and his eyes shine with amusement. James tuts and picks his son up out of the crib, cradling the boy close and bouncing him with the slightest amount of effort. The baby boy shrieks with laughter and James bounces the boy higher before clutching his son close and laughing._

_"It's not perfect," James whispers as he cradles his son. "But it's safe. It's safer than anywhere else in the Wasteland."_

_Maybe they can build a home here. Maybe they can build a life. In that moment, that comforting, simple moment, James hopes for a new life with his son. Perhaps it is possible. Perhaps... perhaps he can make a new life._

_And maybe, just maybe, the bright lights of Vault 101 will hide him from the demons that gnaw at his soul._

* * *

The present:

* * *

Gabriel attempts to open his eyes. His whole body aches, and he groans into a pillow. ___Why does every morning start like this?_

"I told you he'd be fine!"

Gabriel sits up with a start as a loud voice rips into his ear. He groans in pain and lies back down, a headache rushing to the front of his mind.

"Fine?" another voice argues, "You have no idea what's wrong with him! The radiation-"

"Oh stop it," the first voice says, "He's not dead, and better yet his wounds are fully healed! Not to mention the fact that you didn't have to do a single skin graft. I can't think of a better outcome than that, can you?"

Gabriel opens his eyes and looks up at a perky woman wearing a blue RobCo jumpsuit. Her blood-red hair is tied back into a ponytail, and a massive grin splits her happy face. "Well now, you're alive!" the woman says enthusiastically, "Glad to see you're still in one piece!" Gabriel recognizes the woman to be Moira Brown, the curator of the general store and the one who had asked him to help with her 'Wasteland Survival Guide.'

Gabriel groans and sits up, noting for the first time the distinct lack of pain in his abdomen. "Where... where am I?" The room he's in is fuzzy, and it's difficult to identify any building in Megaton from inside since the walls all look the same.

The second voice speaks up, and Gabriel finds himself looking at Doc Church. "You're in my clinic, young man." he says tiredly, "And you're doing a crappy job of keeping yourself out of trouble."

Gabriel shrugs. "Never said I would." He looks back at Moira. "What are you doing here?"

Moira beams. "Oh, you won't believe what's happened! It seems that your body has-"

Church holds up a hand. "Gabriel, I need you to stay calm. Something happened when you passed out. We're not sure why, but after you shut down the bomb there was a... well, I guess you'd call it a pulse."

Moira beams. "It charged the water around the bomb with radioactive particles! Your body absorbed most of the radioactive material, but a lot of the particles got into your wounds."

Gabriel looks at the shoulder Burke shot. There is some scar-tissue, but otherwise the wound is completely un-noticeable. "So what's wrong with me?"

Moria gives Gabriel a disconcerting look. "Well, um, you see, there was a teeny-tiny mutation."

Gabriel starts. "Mutation?" He rapidly scans his arms, legs, and the entirety of his body. "What kind of mutation?"

Church shakes his head. "We thought it was benign. Turns out it wasn't." He walks over to Gabriel's table and places a hand on his shoulder. "Best we can figure is that something reacted to the water, the radiation, and your wounds. Your bones knitted themselves together. Your wounds sealed themselves shut. I can't explain what happened. It's a freak thing, a one in a million chance."

Gabriel looked up at Church, a concerned look on his face. "Treatment?"

Moira shakes her head. "It's not something you can hit with Rad-Away. The mutation is widespread, most of your cells were exposed during the pulse, and it was a while before Lucy found you."

Gabriel sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "So I'm going to turn into a ghoul?"

Church gives Gabriel a light smile. "Not today, at least. We purged the radiation from your system. You'll be fine."

Gabriel gives the pair a puzzled look. "But you said I had a mutation?"

Church nods. "Best we can tell the mutation reacts to high levels of radiation in your system. After we cleaned the radiation out of your body, the majority of it anyway, the effects of the mutation disappeared. Without the radiation, the mutation stays dormant."

Gabriel shakes his head in wonder. "So... so what you're saying is that the next time get shot I should just sit in front of a fuel rod and wait for a couple of minutes?"

Church sighs. "I have no idea. We can't even be sure if the mutation will work again. And I still had to dig the bullet out of your damn arm." He walks over to Gabriel and places a heavy hand on his shoulder. "What I do know is that you need to be more careful. You've only been here a week and you're getting into all kinds of trouble."

Gabriel frowns. "I've only been here a couple of days, doc."

Church shakes his head. "You've been unconscious for five days, Gabriel. I was worried you had slipped into a coma. Moira came down when she heard about your radiation problem. I was... hesitant to get her help, but she was able to give you one hell of a rad purge."

Moira beams. "Oh, it wasn't anything special, just a special recipe I put together a while ago. A little brahmin milk, a couple magnets, and a few happy thoughts are all it takes."

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. His body is still sore but his ribs don't hurt, something he considers a major improvement. "Thanks, Moira. I appreciate the help."

Moira smiles. "Oh, don't worry about it. After all you've done for us in this town. It's the least I can do."

Gabriel nods and turns to Church. "So, doc, how much do I owe you?"

Church huffs, a small smile on his face. "Normally I'd charge you a pretty penny; I've had it hard finding time for other patients when you were all beat to hell and irradiated for damn near a week." He points at Moira. "However, Ms. Brown has offered to pay the full expense of your medical bills in exchange for-"

Moira rushes to Gabriel's side and cuts Church off. "The ordeal you went through would be absolutely wonderful material to add to the Survival Guide!" She blushes and takes a step back. "I'm sorry, it's just, I got so excited when I was patching you up that I may have, well, taken a few notes."

Gabriel hides a smile. "What kind of notes?"

Grinning like a loon, Moira hefts a thick stack of papers in her hands. "Studies concerning your mutation, studies concerning your wounds and broken bones, studies concerning the radiation exposure you had, studies concerning what you mumbled while you were asleep, studies-"

Gabriel holds up a hand. "You recorded what I said in my sleep?"

Moira shrugs. "You never know what might be important."

Gabriel bursts out laughing. He can't help it. He laughs long and hard. Tears pool at the bottom of his eyes. He's alive, he's alive and he laughs until his sides ache. Moira gives Gabriel a puzzled look while Church smiles quietly. Gabriel's laughter subsides and he looks up at Moira. "Important," he says as he shakes his head in wonder. "Jesus, Moira. I could have been talking about pink rabbits or demon possessed chickens or clouds that rain marshmallows and you would have put it in your damn book?"

Moira pouts a little. "This is science we're talking about, Mr. Matthews! Any data is important to real research, you know?"

Gabriel places his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath. The air is dusty and gritty, but it feels like a breath from heaven. God, it feels good to be alive. "Yes, yes I do know. Go ahead and use whatever you've got, Moira. I'm sure it's all useful somehow."

Church tuts quietly. "And that's that. Moira, I'll be expecting payment within a few days. I know you're busy."

Moria beams and looks over at Church. "I'll stop by after I've finished categorizing these notes. Should be back this afternoon." She turns to Gabriel. "Thank you so much, Mr. Matthews!"

Gabriel waves a hand in dismissal. "No worries, Moira. And call me Gabriel."

Moira nods, a massive smile on her face. "Gabriel, then. Thanks a bundle! Come by the shop later, and I'll show you some things you can buy for your new house!"

Gabriel looks at Moira and the over to Church. "House?"

Church laughs and opens the door for Moira. "Lot of folks want to thank you for what you did, Mr. Matthews. I'd let them in, but I don't think the clinic could hold them all." He turns outside. "Alright, Simms, he's awake. You can come in."

Lucas Simms walks into the clinic, a broad smile on his face. "I'll be damned. Gabriel Matthews, back from the dead." He walks up to Gabriel and holds out a hand. "How you feeling?"

Gabriel clasps the hand and Simms pulls him to his feet. "Not bad, considering I was beat to hell and shot twice. Still pretty sore and stiff, though." The look on his face is suddenly serious. "Church told me that there was some kind of electric pulse that happened after I deactivated the bomb. Is everything alright?"

Simms nods slowly. "It's fine, and the bomb's finally dead." Burke grins. "Cromwell damn near had a stroke when he found out, but that's the only fallout I've had to deal with so far. Moira says that the pulse was probably just a combination of old wiring and the radioactive water around the bomb coming into contact. I got the thing all sealed up again after we found you. Well, I should say after Lucy found you and Jericho half-dead and hollered at my ass to get you both into the clinic."

Gabriel nods. "Is Jericho okay?"

Simms smiles lightly. "Yeah, he was pretty beat, but not as bad as you. He was out of the clinic within a few days. Can't imagine what he was doing going after Burke, though."

Gabriel looks down at his hands. "He saved my life. Burke would have killed me if Jericho hadn't been there."

Simms nods. "Figured something like that happened. Jericho's over at the Lantern if you want to go see him."

Gabriel smiles warmly. "I think I might just do that, Sheriff." He looks around, suddenly puzzled. "Huh, thought Lucy West would have been here."

Simms shakes his head. "Naw, she was in earlier this morning. She's been here every day to check and see how you were doing. She likes you something fierce."

Gabriel laughs a little. "Yeah, yeah I guess she does."

Simms clasps Gabriel on the shoulder. "You've done a lot for this town, more than I can say we deserve. It's only right that I return the favor." He presses something into Gabriel's hand. "You've earned it. She's not pretty, but she'll treat you right. Hell, after what you've been through you deserve a place to call home."

Gabriel looks down at the small, silver key in his hand. "You... you're giving me a house?"

Simms smiles broadly. "Son, you're getting a whole lot more than that. Bunch of folks in town pooled their caps together to make you a little care-package. Add to that the gear those Talon morons had on them, and I'd say you're sitting mighty pretty right now."

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck, and for the first time in memory he doesn't know what to say. The generosity being heaped upon him isn't something he's used to. "Thank... thank you, Sheriff."

Simms laughs and walks Gabriel toward the clinic door. "Don't thank me, son. Just head outside when you're ready." Simms nods towards a nearby table where a pile of clothes are sitting. "And I'd recommend that you don't go out in your skivvies, unless you're trying to make a fashion statement, that is."

Gabriel is suddenly aware of the fact that he's standing in only his underwear. He tries not to look hurried as he walks over to the table and dons the provided clothing: a white t-shirt, a pair of simple brown military fatigues brimming with pockets,a pair of faded black army boots and a simple brown leather belt. A sizable bag with a shoulder strap sits near the clothing next to a bulky looking holster. Gabriel throws the bag over his shoulder and slides the holster into his belt before fastening the buckle. Gabriel notices his laser pistol nearby and scans the weapon with a practiced eye before sliding it into the holster. It's a perfect fit, something he appreciates immensely.

Simms nods with approval as Gabriel finishes dressing. "That looks suits you, boy. Little present that the Doc put together. Don't thank him for it, though, he hates that kind of thing. We've got the rest of your gear up at your new place. I'd cover my eyes on the way out, it's a bright one." He opens the door a crack.

Gabriel looks around. "I thought I had a pair of sunglasses on me."

Simms raises an eyebrow. "Doc didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That bomb pulse cooked your skin good before that mutation of yours happened. Doc had to peel the melted glass and metal off your face with a scalpel. Not to mention that leather armor you had on from the waist down. You looked like a burnt leather purse. You're lucky your hair and skin grew back as fast as it did."

Gabriel looks down at his arms and legs, worry creasing his features. The skin looks newly tanned, but is healthy and vibrant. "I'd never have guessed."

Simms laughs. "That mutation's pretty useful, I'll give you that. I'd call you one lucky son of a bitch, but there is that coma you just woke up from." Simms opens the door the rest of the way, filling the room with warm light. "Now let's go say hey to your fans."

Gabriel walks out into the mid-day sunlight and stops dead. A sea of smiling faces looks up at him, and as he steps into the sunlight a chorus of cheers erupt from the townsfolk. He could see Nova, Gob, Crazy Wolfgang, Doc Church, Moira, and Jenny Stahl among them, all with smiles on their faces. Gabriel even spies Moriarty in the crowd, his hard face less contemptible looking than usual. Gabriel can't help it. He smiles broadly and gives a sheepish wave. The crowd bursts into another round of cheers. He walks through the crowd, Simms at his side, and is assaulted with handshakes, thank-yous, and pats on the back. Jenny wraps him in a tight hug and Nova plants a kiss on his lips so hard that Gabriel's head starts to swim. Wolfgang sings a a horridly out of tune ballad exclaiming Gabriel's exploits. Gob ruffles Gabriel's hair and says that he looks pretty ugly for a ghoul. That one sends Gabriel into peals of laughter.

Simms hushes the crowd. "Alright now, ya'll got your two-cents in. This boy need some rest, and he ain't gonna get it with everybody yellin' happy at him."

Laughter erupts from the crowd, and to Gabriel's surprise he can feel a blush creeping up on his features. He hides the red on his face with a smile and looks out onto the crowd. "I... well... thank you. Thank you all, very much."

Gabriel can hear Doc Church's voice over the crowd. "You're damn welcome! Stay out of my clinic!"

The crowd laughs and applauds warmly before dispersing. Some follow Jenny over to the Brass Lantern, while others make their way past the bomb and up to Moriarty's saloon. Simms looks at Gabriel, a bushy smile on his face.

"Can't thank you enough, Mr. Matthews. You've done us good, and without us even asking for it. You're a real hero."

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. "Don't give me a swelled head."

Simms claps Gabriel on the shoulder. "Son, I mean it. You've done more for these folks in the last few days than most people would be willin' to do in a lifetime. You've given them more than their lives, Mr. Matthews. You've given them hope. And I'll be damned if there's anything in this world more valuable than hope."

An awkward silence passes between the two men. Simms' words aren't lost on Gabriel, but for the second time that day he can't think of anything to say. Finally, after a moment, Gabriel looks down at the key in his hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to see this new house of mine."

Simms nods. "Of course." He leads Gabriel up a series of ramparts as the crowd starts to disperse. Simms walks over to a large building that sits just over the Brass Lantern. Gabriel's eyes follow the walkway, and he realizes that the house is close to Megaton's front gate. He can see the recently metal plates that have replaced the parts of the gate that were destroyed in the attack.

Simms walks up to a nearby door and rests a hand against the metal. "Here she is, Mr. Matthews. Right over the Brass Lantern and close to the gate. Figured that last detail would be a boon in case you get shot up again after trip'sin about the Wasteland."

Gabriel grins. "Yeah, guess you're right. That'll come in very handy."

Simms claps Gabriel on the back. "Speaking of handy, I think you'll like this next feature quite a bit."

Simms raps his knuckles against the door, causing Gabriel to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "Don't tell me someone's still living here."

Simms laughs. "Hell, Mr. Matthews, I wouldn't call it living."

A voice floats out from behind the door. "Yes, who is it? Hello?"

Gabriel instantly recognizes the electronic English butler tones. "You have got to be kidding me." He rubs his forehead in dismay.

Simms grins. "Told you you'd like it." He addresses the door. "Open up, Wadsworth. It's Simms."

The door opens inwards, and Gabriel finds himself staring at the eye-light of a Mister Handy robot. The baby-blue machine is a floating ball of metal with three self-adjusting eye-lights that glow bright yellow. Alongside the robot's frame are a trio of extension arms, each equipped with the standard Mister Handy tool sets. Gabriel notes the grasping arm, flamethrower, and buzzsaw attachments split among the three arms, each bobbing slightly as the robot's central thruster keeps it floating a foot or so above the ground. There is a sudden hiss of propulsion as the robot's 'head' turns and catches sight of Simms. "Sheriff!" the robot exclaims, "How absolutely wonderful to see you again! How may I be of assistance?"

Gabriel follows Simms as the older man pushes his way past the robot and into the house. "You can assist me by helping this young man get acquainted with his new home," Simms says, pointing at Gabriel, "He's your new master."

Wadsworth's attention suddenly shifts to Gabriel, and the closest of the robot's eyes turns to face the young man. "What?" the robot asks, its voice indignant. "This droll specimen of humanity is the new owner of this high-end residence? I protest, Sheriff. I really must!"

Gabriel rubs his forehead. "Goddamn Type II's..."

Wadsworth huffs and floats an inch higher off the ground, nearly knocking his 'head' against the door frame. "Well, I _never_!"

Simms chuckles quietly. "I'll leave you to it, Mr. Matthews. I put the rest of your gear into the bedroom. You've got everything but a bathroom. Men's restroom is over by the armory." He points a finger at the young vault dweller. "Don't let me catch you in the women's, or I'll bust your ass good." He smiles. "Have a nice day, Mr. Matthews. You've earned it." Simms closes the door behind him, leaving Gabriel and Wadsworth to themselves.

The robot looks around, as if it's uncertain how to proceed. "Well then, how may I serve you today master?" The robot's volume lowers and Gabriel can make out the words, "Not that I really want to..."

Gabriel frowns. "Listen up," he says sharply, "If we're going to live together I want to make a couple of things clear. First, I'm not some wastelander junkie. I'm from a Vault, and I'm a goddamn surgeon, mechanic and scientist. You will show some respect."

Wadsworth floats silently and Gabriel continues. "Second, I'm going to need your help and not just with the normal house crap. I'm going to be doing a lot of medical, mechanical and scientific research. I'll need you to keep all my notes, test results, and schematics in your central memory processor."

Wadsworth's voice is laced with indignation. "Now I do believe you have me mistaken with a higher functioning model, master. I am only a Type II, certainly not capable of the advanced sub-routines you're suggesting I run."

Gabriel sighs and rubs his forehead. "Run system scan. Access encrypted files. Authorization: alpha-gamma-theta nine-five-two. Civilian override."

Wadsworth is silent for a moment. "Authorization confirmed," he intones without emotion, "All systems operational and accessible. Please state your command."

Gabriel grins. "Activate standard emotional drives and audio files. Retain specific encrypted processes. Set loyalty: high. Set efficiency: high. Set security protocol: high. Password file: Override two dash one dash six. Process and apply in three seconds."

"Processing. Three. Two. One." Wadsworth's eye suddenly shifts to Gabriel, glowing brightly. "Why hello, master! How may I help you today?"

Gabriel sighs in relief. The Type II Mister Handy, and that included Andy back in Vault 101, were notorious for terminal overloads during civilian override procedures. What had once been widely thought as a simple system glitch had been a far more devious problem. Designed, built and distributed by RobCo Industries in partnership with General Atomics International, the Mister Handy series of home robots were a staggering success in the years before the Great War. However, General Atomics International was secretly a branch of the US Military's tech division, which monitored all robotic construction and use. When the Type II was released to the general public, nearly a year after the medical and military versions had already been rotated into use, General Atomics imbedded a self-destruct sub-routine into the Type II. The sub-routine would activate when a civilian used non-authorized command overrides to change or modify the Mister Handy's central processor. If activated, the sub-routine would shut down the affected unit and fry its central processor, rendering the robot useless. This system was installed to keep hidden Chinese communist cells in America from using the robots to their advantage.

_The paranoia of it all,_ Gabriel quietly scoffs. Thankfully, the sub-routine required a constant and powerful signal to be broadcast from nearby military installations. With the military out of the picture there isn't anything stopping Gabriel from tinkering around with Wadsworth's brain.

"If I may make a humble suggestion, sir," Wadsworth says delicately, "I believe your new dwelling could use... well, perhaps the word 'improvements' is insensitive."

Gabriel sighs and rubs the space between his eyes. "Initiate sarcasm protocol." The lack of sarcasm from the Handy is somehow discomforting.

"Confirmed," Wadsworth says tonelessly. "However," he says heavily, "while 'improvements' _is_ insensitive, it is also a dreadful understatement." The sarcasm that Wadsworth emits is nearly palpable.

"Glad to have you back, Wadsworth."

The robot's tone softens a bit. "Glad to be back, sir. Now, all horrid pleasantries aside, how may I assist you this fine day?"

Gabriel looks around the small shack. It's clean, at least by Megaton standards, but the only pieces of furniture in sight are a pair of battered metal lockers, a strange stove-shaped stand and a large recharging station for the Mister Handy. Gabriel turns back to Wadsworth. "Okay, listen up. The first thing I need is-" Gabriel cuts off, suddenly aware of how dry his tongue is. "Actually," he says, a bit off-put by his own interruption, "I could really use a glass of water."

Wadsworth's voice is almost intolerable with its sarcasm-heavy enthusiasm. "Of course, master! Far be it from me to ignore your organic needs. Allow me." A small metal cup slides out of Wadsworth's metal housing and the robot plucks it delicately with his pincer arm. A small hose extends from Wadsworth's undercarriage and slips neatly into the cup. Gabriel can hear the hiss of running water just before Wadsworth holds the cup out for Gabriel.

Gabriel accepts the proffered cup. "Thank you, Wadsworth." He takes a long and satisfying drink. The water is crisp, cold and clean.

It is the best drink of water he's ever had.

"You are more than welcome," Wadsworth says dryly. The cup slides back into his housing. "Was there anything else I could help you with?" The robot's voice drops to a low mutter. "Not that I really want to..."

Gabriel nods, ignoring the machine. "I was actually hoping you could give me a quick tour of my new place."

Wadsworth intones a sigh. "Of course, master. Far be it from me to deny you from viewing the... _splendors_ of your new home."

Gabriel laughs, much to Wadsworth's surprise. "Yeah, I was just thinking about how homey all the rust in this place is. Maybe we-" A series of sharp knocks cut Gabriel off.

_I wonder who that could be, _he thinks as he walks to the door. He opens his front door for the first time and finds himself face to face with Lucy West. She's hard to see in the bright sunlight. Gabriel can't quite make out her features. "Lucy?" he asks somewhat dumbly. "Hey, everything okay?"

Lucy takes a step forwards. "Gabriel..." she says quietly.

Gabriel's eyebrows jump. "Hey now. Lucy, what's the matter? You want something to drink? Wadsworth here has some cold water if you-" Gabriel takes two sudden steps back. His face stings and he brings a hand to his face in reflex. "Huh?" he says, dumbstruck. "The fuck was that?"

Wadsworth floats back. "Oh dear..."

Lucy West walks into Gabriel's new home. Out of the sunlight her features are fully visible. Gabriel is almost frightened by the thunder in her eyes and the scowl on her face. "What was that, Lucy?" he shouts angrily as he regains composure. "What the hell was-"

Another whip-like smack cracks against his cheek. "You!" Lucy screams as Gabriel stumbles for the second time that day, "You fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking?"

Gabriel shakes his to clear the stars from his vision. His cheek stings like a bitch. "What the hell are you talking about, Lucy?" His voice is no longer a shout. It's still angry, but the volume is less. "What the hell did I do to deserve that?"

"Being a goddamn idiot is what you did, Gabriel Matthews!" She shouts as she fumes. "You could have been killed! You almost were! How could you have been so stupid?"

Gabriel holds up his hands. "Hold on. Just calm down. You're mad because of what happened with the bomb? I saved all our lives, Lucy! I shut down a nuke! You can't stand there and call me stupid!"

Lucy's anger hangs over her like a cloud. "I can do whatever I damn well please, Gabriel! You risked this entire town with your stupid plan and, like it was no big deal, tried to disarm a bomb while a sociopath was out there trying to kill us all! The gate was destroyed and you just figured that killing a bunch of moron mercs had solved the problem! That's not smart, Gabriel, that's idiotic!"

Once again Gabriel is at a loss for words. He can't remember the last time someone called him stupid right to his face. "Lucy-"

"No," she growls, cutting him off. "You didn't think, not one bit. You keep saying you're doing the best you can for the people that live here, but you're going about it the wrong way! You've been acting on impulse and emotion and it damn near got you killed. It damn near got all of us killed. That's not smart, Gabriel Matthews. That's as stupid and selfish as it gets."

Gabriel's teeth grind together in anger. He says the only words he can think of. "I... I'm sorry, Lucy." He hates every syllable as he utters them. Who is Lucy West to him? A stranger at the least and acquaintance at the most. A passionless kiss at the very, very best. Who is she to judge him or his actions? Who is she to hit him, scold him? Who the hell does she think she is?

Lucy doesn't let up. "Sorry isn't going to cut it, Gabriel. You have no idea, do you? Do you have any idea what it's like to wait for five days for someone who may or may not wake up? Do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you care about get dragged into the clinic and not know if they're ever going to come back out? Do you know what it's like to have to help Church and Moira peel burnt skin and leather off of you? You thrashed the entire time, Gabriel. It was the most... most awful... awful thing..." Like a dam overtaxed with water, Lucy finally breaks down.

Compassion rises in Gabriel, overturning the anger that has been building in his system. "Lucy," he whispers as he moves close to her. "Hey now, don't-"

Lucy takes a step back in anger and turns away from him. "Just... just don't, Gabriel. I'm going to be mad at you for a while. You'll just have to deal with that." Lucy turns and walks out of Gabriel's shack without another word.

Gabriel looks from the open doorway for a long time before turning back to Wadsworth. "What the hell... Can you explain what just happened?"

Wadsworth chuckles lightly. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

* * *

"What did they do to piss you off, Gunny?"

Paladin Gunny looks over at Sentinel Sarah Lyons and a smile forms at the edges of his mouth. "They pissed me off simply by existing, Sentinel. You can see what I mean when it's time for them to run their firearm drills. Buncha' lousy wannabe hotshots that couldn't even take on a crippled mole rat." Paladin Gunny, covered head to neck in power armor, is an intimidating figure. His loud, gravelly voice complements his muddy green eyes and sculpted features. Always the professional, Gunny's entire head is clean shaven. All in all, Paladin Gunny is a striking individual and looks every bit like the soldier he is.

Which, of course, does nothing to help his personality.

"Why do you think I ride these recruits so hard? I make training hell so fighting uglies won't be." Gunny looks over at the nearby recruits. "Drop and give me fifty, you little shits!"

Sarah watches as the Initiates drop to the dirt and proceed with their push ups. The Initiates are covered from head to toe in old-world recon armor, the base layer for any suit of power armor. The recon armor, though it looks clunky, is actually a flexible and protective tan bodyglove fitted with metal attachment ports for a full set of power armor. Though power armor is a limited resource in the Citadel, the Brotherhood has found hundreds of the recon armor sets since their arrival in the Capital Wasteland. Sarah dimly recalls her own Initiate training many years ago, though back then she was under the charge of Star Paladin Cross. Though Gunny and Cross both have different training methods, it is obvious to Sarah that Gunny has taken a few of the more rigorous pages from Cross' training regiment and added them to his own. The Initiates are practically bleeding sweat from their faces as they continue in their drills.

"So what can I do for you, Sentinel?" Gunny asks gruffly. "Don't tell me you're actually looking to put some of these sickly pups into the Pride. Goddamn disgrace, this is."

Sarah hides a smile. Thomas Gunny has always been a hard-ass, even during his training alongside her and most of the Pride all those years ago. Though Gunny had always hated Cross' training sessions, the future Paladin had a knack for learning and teaching. Gunny had nearly ran off screaming when Sarah's father had tasked Gunny with training the new Initiates full-time. Despite any reservations Gunny may have had, Elder Lyons had chosen well and Sarah is convinced that no-one else in the Brotherhood can do the job as well as Gunny can.

"Actually," Sarah says with more than a little disdain, "I was hoping to speak with a couple of your Initiates. I'm... interested in recruiting them." All lies, but after nearly a week of brooding over Gallow's suggestion, Sarah is hopelessly out of options.

Gunny rubs his forehead and winces. "Jesus wept, Sarah. These kids just aren't cut out for Pride's work, let alone in-city reconnaissance. They've still got weeks before they're field ready.

Sarah's eyes narrow. "I've read the progress reports, Paladin. They're doing just fine, despite what you think of them." She looks over at the struggling initiates. "And I'm only interested in two of them. Reddin and Jennings."

Gunny quickly straightens and levels a hostile glare at his initiates. "Initiate Jumpyfuck Jennings, get your ass over here! On the double, mister!"

Sarah watches as a young man at the end of the push up line scrambles to his feet and breathlessly rushes over to Gunny and Sarah. "You called for me, sir?" he asks timidly. Sarah frowns as she takes the Initiate in. Jennings is an attractive young man with short cut sandy-blonde hair and yellow-brown eyes. A light smile seems constantly smeared across the Initiate's face, something Sarah can't approve of. It's a sign that the man is green as grass, despite months of training with the Brotherhood.

Gunny takes a step forward and brings his face within inches of Jennings' own. "You blind, maggot?" Gunny yells. Several of the Initiates stop in mid-push up and look at the instructor, their eyes filled with apprehension. When they see it's not them the Paladin is yelling at they resume their strenuous workout. Sarah suppresses a chuckle at the sight.

Paladin Gunny continues to roar at the Initiate cowering before him. "You're in the presence of Sentinel Sarah fuckin' Lyons, you scummed up shit! She is so far beyond you it's not even funny! You'd have better luck fighting off a Deathclaw with a rusty ripper shoved up your ass than taking on the Sentinel! So some goddamn respect, you inferior pustule!"

Still quivering in fear, Jennings straightens and salutes Sarah, his eyes firmly skyward. "Initiate William Jennings, ma'am!" His voice is so close to a sob that it hurts Sarah to hear it.

Sarah suppresses the urge to rub her forehead in dismay. It is difficult. Instead she says, "At ease, Initiate."

Jennings nods gratefully and his shoulders drop to more human levels. "Thank you, ma'am."

Sarah turns to Gunny. "I need to speak with the Initiate alone for a moment, Paladin. And I'm sure you're eager to terrorize the others."

Gunny grins like a shark. "Eager and very, very willing, Sentinel." He jogs over to the remaining Initiates and barks a series of orders. The Initiates scramble off the ground and proceed to run laps around the Bailey.

Sarah focuses her attention on Jennings and levels a wry eyebrow at him. "Not Jumpyfuck, then?"

Jennings cringes slightly. "No... no ma'am. William. Instructor Gunny gives us all... nicknames, ma'am." Jennings' declaration is followed by a disheartening sigh.

Sarah almost sighs along with him. Almost. "I hear you're good with a laser rifle, Initiate."

Jennings rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I... I am satisfactory with all forms of weaponry that the Paladin-Instructor has trained-"

Sarah sighs. "Don't give me the crap you give the others, Jennings. Give me your version of what you are. That's what's important."

The hesitant, slightly apprehensive look on Jennings' face suddenly evaporates, something Sarah is immensely grateful for. In its place is an eager, self-confident look that all but shatters Sarah's previous thoughts concerning the initiate. Sarah realizes that this new confidence is the result of her asking Jennings' for his opinion.

In short, the puppy is thrilled that someone has finally thrown him a bone.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm good, yes. Second best shot in the group, right behind Reddin. I'm quick on my feet and smart about the way I fight. Like the Elder says, 'those who think with the mind of battle are sure to walk away victorious.' I live by that, ma'am."

Sarah raises an eyebrow. "So you're a tactician?"

Jennings' eyes go wide. "Oh! No ma'am, didn't imply that. It's just... well I guess you could call it a trained reflex. Kind of like the mantra Knight Captain Colvin taught us that one day. I just... I just slip into the fight, that's all. I get better with things. Situations. I'm... I'm really good when it's like that. Almost as good as Reddin."

Sarah nods. She's heard of similar cases before, normal people who could suddenly slip into states that increased their awareness. It isn't anything genetic or biological, it is simply a state of mind that shut off the parts of the body that weren't focused on staying alive and staying fighting. Knight Captain Colvin is one of those people, the best she's ever seen. Sarah had thought Gallows and Dusk to be similar at one point, but it was just the latter's focus and her steely 'stare death in the face' attitude. And Gallows... well, Gallows is Gallows. Sarah honestly doesn't what to know what makes the man what he is. As for Jennings, his admission to a sort of battle-focus surprises her, but the understanding is strangely reassuring.

"So," she says after a moment's pause, "How would you feel about taking on a little extra homework during your off-duty hours?"

Jennings' brow furrows in confusion. "Ma'am?"

"I'm looking for a medic," Sarah says simply, "I want someone who can learn quick and who works well under pressure. Do you think you'd be up for that?"

Jennings' mouth opens and closes several times before he chokes out a response. "I... Yes, ma'am! I'd need authorization to borrow some medical texts from the Scribes, but I'd be more than willing to hit the books. I know I can do it. I know I can."

Sarah smiles warmly. "Glad to hear it, Initiate. After your drills today I want you to requisition a few medical textbooks from Scribe Jameson. Tell her I sent you. Oh, and be ready for a trial run sometime soon."

Jennings' salutes sharply, his face a mask of youthful purpose. "Yes, ma'am! I won't let you down!"

Sarah nods. "Dismissed, Initiate Jennings."

Jennings runs off to join his fellow Initates, assimilating himself into the group of runners with practiced stride. A small smile lights on Sarah's face. Maybe the situation isn't as hopeless as she had made it out to be.

Sarah's feeble hopes are dashed as Jennings, Initiate of the Brotherhood of Steel and hopeful for Sarah's Lyon's Pride, falls flat on his face in mid-stride. The resulting crash almost causes Sarah to wince. However, Sarah doesn't wince until the tangle of arms and legs that is Initiate William Jennings trips up three of his fellow Initiates and sends them sprawling to the ground in a mess of dirt, sweat, and curses.

Sarah sighs and closes her eyes. "Say it, Gunny," she says with irritation. "I know you're standing behind me."

Gunny laughs and places a hand on Sarah's armored shoulder. "This is absolutely beautiful, Sentinel. This means I get to run them through at least three more days of practice drills."

Sarah rubs the space between her eyes with a tired hand. "I can't believe that this is the best the Wasteland has to offer."

"This is hopeless."

* * *

"You're hopeless, kid."

Jericho downs another shot of whiskey and looks over at Gabriel. "Women are un-fuckin'-predictable, you moron. Lucy's a good girl, better than most out here, but that doesn't mean she ain't batshit crazy like all the rest. Gotta keep that in mind when you try'an talk to'em."

Gabriel sighs and nurses his own shot. "Tell me about it. Who the fuck does she think she is, thinking she can call me out like that?"

Jericho laughs, an ugly sound. "She's the one in charge, that's what she fuckin' is. Don'tcha ever think otherwise. I don't care how fuckin' smart, good-lookin', or tough you think you are. At the end of the day, the woman's always gonna have your nuts in a goddamn vice." Jericho looks over at Gabriel, who is sitting on the bar stool next to him. "You ain't gonna get very far with the dames if you keep thinkin' you're the almighty king of the goddamn Wasteland."

Gabriel frowns. "I never said I was."

Jericho pours himself another shot from the half-empty bottle of whiskey nearby. "Kid, the way you've been acting says everything you don't. You ain't no better than me. You ain't no better than Simms. You ain't no better than pretty Lucy. Hell, you ain't no better than Colin fuckin' Moriarty." Jericho glances at Gabriel for a moment. "Okay, well maybe you've got me and Moriarty beat, but that ain't sayin' much."

Gabriel knocks his shot back with a grimace. "Fuck off, old man."

The Brass Lantern is strangely calm from inside the building. The thick metal walls keep the worst of Megaton's ramshackle sounds out of earshot. The only other person at the bar is Andy Stahl, Jenny's older brother and the middle child of the Stahl trio. The angry-faced redhead sends a quiet glare Jericho's way as he scrubs a shot glass with a rag that isn't quite clean. Jericho rolls his eyes and ignores Andy. "Jesus fuckin' A," Jericho breathes, "Some people in this town hold bigger grudges than Moriarty."

Andy scowls again and sets the shot glass down on the table. His eyes are filled with menace. "Stay the fuck away from my sister, Jericho."

Gabriel looks at Andy and then back to Jericho. "Anybody care to explain?" A glare from Andy shuts Gabriel up cold.

Jericho, his face still slightly bruised from the beating from Burke, sighs and pours himself another shot. "It's nothin', vaultie. Andy here just likes to open up old wounds, don'tcha, Andy?"

Andy Stahl slams a fist against the bar that rattles Gabriel's nerves. "Old wounds?" Andy shouts angrily, "You tried to rape Jenny, you son of a bitch!"

Jericho knocks his shot back, seemingly unfazed by Andy's outburst. "You know I was drunk, Andy. Had no idea what the fuck I was doin'." Jericho manages a raised eyebrow in Andy's direction. "Besides, tried is the goddamn word. Jen damn near busted my nuts right off. Even is even, the way I see it."

Andy snorts in contempt and walks away, muttering curses under his breath. Jericho looks over at Gabriel and downs the last of his whiskey. "Looks like I've overstayed my welcome. See you around, kid." He tosses a few grimy caps onto the counter and walks over to the door.

Gabriel nods at the battered old raider. "Hey... thanks for what you did back there."

A small smile tugs the corners of Jericho's mouth for the briefest of instants. "Don't make it a habit, kid. Can't be pulling your ass out of the fire every time you go and do something stupid." He turns and walks out of the bar, the mid-day sun beating down on his tanned face with vigor.

Andy glares at the door as Jericho leaves. "Lousy son of a bitch," he mutters. "Can't even begin to wonder why he'd save your life like that."

Gabriel smiles quietly to himself. "Guess I made an impression," he says as the door closes. "Glad he helped, whatever the reason."

Andy huffs and walks into the Lantern's back office. "You steal anything and I'll cut your balls off. Enjoy your booze."

Gabriel laughs with good humor. He pours himself another shot of whiskey and looks into the pale orange liquid, trying to discern some semblance of thought from it.

_Okay Gabriel,_ he thinks as he gazes upon a blurry, orange tinged version of himself, _crazy shit these last few days, sure enough. You escaped the Vault that you lived in your whole life with help from your (ex) girlfriend and a frighteningly cold and murderous mindset. You then proceeded to stumble into a post-apocalyptic Wasteland with absolutely no resources, no outside help, and certainly no idea of what you were going to do. After an almost sickeningly coincidental meet with Sheriff Simms you found yourself in Megaton, a small piece of filthy civilization not half a mile from your entrance into the world. Not even a day into the Wasteland you agreed to help a bunch of people you didn't know kill a whole bunch of psychopaths that were going to try and kill everyone. You won, but got beat to shit and came back here, only to enrage an even more homicidal bunch of psychopaths the next day. Got beat to shit again because of your shortsightedness. Ended up in a coma for five days. Now you're rich and own a home, along with a crap-ton of killing power, a sarcastic robot and a seriously ridiculous mutation. All in less than a week. Oh, and you've managed to kill... let's see now... around, no, exactly 37 people. Again, all in less than a week. That about sums it up, right?_

"Dumb fucking story," Gabriel says to no-one. He swishes the shot in his hand, blurring the small, orange Gabriel in the whiskey.

_Really dumb,_ his mind tells him. _Anybody else would have been dead by now. Anybody else would have played it safe. You didn't. Lucy is right, numb-fuck. You _are _stupid. You're lucky and smart and a complete goddamn idiot. Any other bright ideas?_

"Not really," Gabriel breathes. He takes another look into the shot and frowns.

_Maybe you're supposed to survive, Gabe-my-boy. Maybe you've got bigger things ahead of you. Maybe-_

"Fuck that," Gabriel says and knocks the shot back. The whiskey is old and bitter in his mouth, a perfect way to kill his thoughts. "I want the quiet life. No more bullshit. No more taking stupid risks. From now on I'm taking it easy. I've done enough."

_Really? _his mind laughs, _you really think you're done? Think again boy. You'll never be able to go back to the Vault. You'll never be the same. All those people you killed? They'll haunt you to your grave, Gabriel Matthews. To your thrice-damned grave._

Gabriel growls angrily and pours himself another drink. "Like hell they will," he mutters, "Self-defense. All of it. Every damn drop of blood I've spilled."

_Bullshit. Christine Kendall isn't going to see her dad ever again because you shot him in cold-blood. How long do you think you can go on in this place before you end another life that doesn't really deserve it? You think Christine is crying right now? I think she is, Gabe-my-boy. I really think she is._

"Nothing I could have done," Gabriel whispers. His hand tightens around the shot-glass.

_Yeah, okay. Let's say for a minute that I buy that. Let's say, just between selves here, that every act you've done and every consequence that has occurred as a result of your actions is justified. Let's say that's all true. Clean slate. My question remains. What on earth are you going to do with yourself now?_

"I'll help," Gabriel says as he knocks the shot back. "I'll help these people. I'll do repairs. I'll help Moira with her Survival Guide. I'll lend Church a hand over at the clinic. That's what I'll do."

_What about dad, huh? You just going to sit in the place and not even give a rat's ass why he broke out of the Vault? You aren't worried about him or wondering where he is right now? _

"Not my problem," Gabriel says. His voice is a little slurred now and he pushes the bottle of whiskey aside. "He got me into this mess. If I find him I'll deal with it. Until that happens I'm my own person, just like he is. No sense scouring the Wasteland looking for him anyway. Wouldn't know where to start."

_True. _Gabriel's mind is finally starting to sound sympathetic. _You've got that right, sure enough. Okay, so you've got a plan, a moral compass, and the will to do what you need to do to stay alive in this place. That about sums it up, right? List all checked off? Baggage all packed? Seat in the upright position and ready for takeoff?_

Gabriel grins. "Yes indeed. Tray table up and everything else."

_Then why the fuck are you moping around this bar?_

Gabriel laughs and gets up off the bar stool. "All done here, Andy," he says as he tosses a handful of caps onto the counter, "Money's on the bar."

Andy shuffles out of the office and gives Gabriel's caps a cursory glance. "That'll do. Take care of yourself." Andy rubs the back of his neck. "And thanks for not letting all of us get killed."

Gabriel shrugs. "Sure. Don't mention it."

Andy's scowl returns in a flash. "No worries there." He pockets Gabriel's caps and walks back into his office.

Gabriel opens the door to the Lantern and walks out into the afternoon sun. His skin still tingles every time sunlight graces his features, and Gabriel notices a slight tan starting to develop on his arms. "Really could have used those sunglasses right about now," he mutters as he holds up an arm to keep the sunlight out of his face.

"Oh damn!" someone shouts, "Leak in the pipe!"

Gabriel looks over at a group of people who have clustered around a nearby pipe. Irradiated water exits the rusty metal in a fine spray as Gabriel walks over, his brow furrowed with concern. "Problems?"

A wastelander with a grime-covered face looks fearfully down at the pipe. "Yeah, big problems. This is the third leak this week. Only one who can fix it is old Walter, and he's too busy dealing with the water-purifier to come down here and fix this."

Gabriel looks down at the leaky pipe. The water is beginning to pool in the dusty earth, creating a fine film of dust that flows over the top of the water. The patterns are stunning, something new to the former Vault dweller. Gabriel shakes his head and looks back up at the crowd. "So... you're telling me that some old guy... what's his name?"

One of the wastelanders answers him, an older man with a heavily wrinkled face and balding grey hair. "Old Walter's his name. He's been fixin' that purifier for as long as anybody can remember. Learned it from his father, he did. Took over after he passed. Must be, oh, around fifty years he's been helping us out?"

Gabriel rubs his forehead in dismay. "And what's your name?"

The old man smiles broadly. "Why, I'm Nathan, young man. Nathan Vargas. I hear we have you to thank for dealing with those mercs a few days ago."

Gabriel sighs. "Yes, yes. Back on subject. This Walter, does he have anyone helping him?" Gabriel directs his question to the crowd assembled, catching each of their gazes with his own.

"It's always been Walter," Nathan says quietly, "That's always been enough."

Gabriel rounds on him, anger surfacing on his face. "So you're telling me that none of you, not a single _fucking_ one of you, has ever offered to help an old man, who has been keeping you all alive this whole time, with a little routine maintenance?"

The crowd backs away suddenly and Nathan pales. Gabriel, in his fury, doesn't notice the woman standing on the gantry above him. He is oblivious to the wry smile and the arms crossed in satisfaction.

"You're telling me," Gabriel shouts, "that none of you have ever bothered to give a single moment of your time in order to keep this place running? Do you have any idea how fast you would all die if the water in this place stopped running? It would be pretty fast, I'll tell you that!"

Gabriel kneels down by the rusty pipe, ignoring the sting of the radioactive water as it splashes onto his arms and chest. It darkens his shirt to match his mood. "I'm going to fix this," he says to those around him. "I'm not going to be a selfish, unthinking jackass that takes everything for granted. I'm going to fix this, and I'm going to do it right." He glances up and smiles.

Lucy West smiles back.

* * *

"That was, without a doubt, the longest day of work I've ever had."

Lucy laughs and watches as Gabriel, covered head to toe in soot and grease, stumbles out of the Water Processing Plant. His shoulders sag as he leans against the wall of the building next to the doorway, his hair matted in sweaty clumps. "I probably look a lot better than I feel right now, don't I?"

Lucy smiles and leans up next to him. "And how exactly do you feel?"

Gabriel manages a tired laugh. "Like shit." He glances at her and smiles. "But hey, I got a lot done, made a bit of cash," he jingles a small purse of caps on his belt, "and managed to humble myself a little." He runs a filthy a hand through his hair, uncaring. "Plus, I managed to not kill anyone today. It's been, aside from the coma and all the horrible things I've probably managed to breathe in, a pretty damn good day."

Lucy's smile grows a little larger. "Yeah, watching you bust your ass all day is pretty satisfying."

He shrugs. "Doesn't ever hurt to have some perspective." His gaze drops. "I'm sorry about... well about before. Wasn't thinking straight. Had my head in the clouds... or maybe it was buried under all the shit that had happened to me. Doesn't matter." He tentatively reaches out to place an arm over Lucy's shoulders.

She lets him.

The two of them are silent for a moment and they watch as the sun dips slowly under the walls of the town. Lucy turns to Gabriel, her eyes shining. "Wanna get some dinner over at the lantern?"

Gabriel smiles and looks out into the dying sun.

"Lucy, I'd love to."

* * *

"I am not tired in the slightest."

Gabriel sprawls onto the bed, a satisfied smile on his face. "How many times is that? Lost count in all the... heh, steam."

Lucy hits him with a pillow. "Oh, shut up, you moron."

"Is that a compliment?"

"No."

Gabriel laughs and pulls her on top of him, enjoying the feel of her skin against his. "I'll take it."

She rolls over on top of him and smiles. She is radiant in the dim lights. "Well then," she whispers as her hand trails down his bare chest. "Let's see if you can last a bit longer." She wraps her hand around his length and he exhales sharply.

The sex is silent, or at least devoid of words. He enters her, breathlessly, his hands finding her waist. She rides him slowly, a steady rhythm. He places a hand on her left breast, feeling her heartbeat. Her breathing grows heavy and she places her hands on his chest. Her head tilts forward, as if in prayer. Gabriel can feel the strands of her hair as they trace across his chest. His breathing starts to match hers.

All good things.

Afterward, as she sleeps against him, a hand over his chest, he looks up at the ceiling.

_Maybe I've made something, _he thinks as he strokes Lucy's hair. _Maybe I'm done worrying. Maybe I'm done wondering. Maybe I can make a real difference out here._

_Perhaps I can start a new life._

Gabriel Matthews closes his eyes, a light smile on his face. A moment later he joins Lucy in dreamless sleep.

* * *

_He stops in his walk._

_Everything seems to stop around him. The wind fades into nothingness. The howl of dogs in the distance is suddenly quieted. The whole earth chills over, and the sun seems to stop in the sky._

_"Oh, that will not do."_

_He laughs. "A life? Is that what you think you have made for yourself? A place in this world? Oh, oh I think not. I think you still have a part to play. I think that you will find your surety very, very difficult to maintain. I think this life of yours needs a bit of chaos. Just to spice things up, you understand."_

_He holds out his hand. A wind, one that comes from nowhere, whips around him._

_"I think," he breathes into the wind, "That it's time to ruin a few good things."_

_He reaches out, searching for something. A vein pulses in his forehead. His breathing becomes ragged and painful._

_There. Two bodies cradled together. Man. Woman. Sleeping bliss. And... oh dear. Secrets._

_He grins past the pain. It is a wolf's grin. It is a shark's hunger._

_He can use this._

_He focuses on the woman. What secrets does she hold? She is far from home, parted from family. Family is a Mother, a Father._

_A Brother._

_Oh, oh dear. Such a secret to hold. He can see it. Such hunger. It rivals his own. There is a crucial difference, however. __The hunger is for flesh. The hunger is for blood._

_He laughs. He can use this._

_He finds them all together. Mother. Father. Brother. All in their beds, sleeping soundly. He finds the boy. He sees the dreams._

_He sees the secrets._

_He reaches into the Brother's mind and stirs something. It will fester there. It will grow. It will emerge at the opportune moment._

_It will emerge and ruin a lot of good things._

_He laughs and continues in his walk. He thinks of what is to come and bares his teeth. __"You are not done yet," he breathes._

_"I still have a use for you, Gabriel Matthews."_

* * *

Gabriel sits up, his breathing heavy. It's dark in Lucy's bedroom, but his eyes adjust quickly in the light. Moisture runs down his face and he realizes that he is drenched in sweat. Gabriel hears Lucy snoring lightly next to him and he calms a little.

_Just a bad dream, you moron._ He settles back into the bed. Cold metal presses against his thigh.

Gabriel looks down and sees that his right hand is wrapped tightly around the handle of his combat knife. He curses quietly and, so as not to wake Lucy, carefully places the knife on the floor under the bed. He'll deal with it in the morning. Gabriel shakes his head and lays back, sleep tugging his eyes closed.

_Just a bad dream,_ he thinks again.

_A nightmare is all it was._

* * *

**LM here,**

**Okay, this took approximately for-fuggin-ever. I apologize for that. Profusely. I hope this chapter makes up for it. (Shoots self out of shame)**

**Heh, just kidding. I want you to hate me. Go on, do it. Hit me with a belt. Love that crap. ;) (The previous apologies are still very valid, however. Srsly.)**

**Anyways, this one is a little less... oh I dunno, kill-tastic. The violence is fun to write, don't get me wrong, but it does little in the way of story progression. I had a blast writing the scene with Jennings and Sarah. That was some hilarious stuff I got to write, lemme tell you. Especially Gunny. 'I make training hell so fighting uglies won't be.' You're amazing, Gunny.**

**As for Gabriel, well, I wanted build up a sense of security. Something akin to a normal life. He can't be a super-smart badass all the time, now can he? That's a slipper slope to a Gary Stu, I promise you that. He's not perfect. He's fallible. He has problems with humility. This is a chapter that defines his human side; a good person that only wants a pretty girl, some satisfying, hard work, and a little financial security. It's all good as far as Gabriel is concerned.**

**Too bad certain interests don't want that for him.**

**I've got some very good, very bad ideas planned for the next chapter. If you can, imagine me sitting over my laptop, rubbing my hands together maliciously. That's pretty much me in the mirror right now.**

**Oh, now we are going to have some _fun. _(Evil Laugh)**

**As always, R&R!**

**Levi Matthews**

**P.S. Oh, and this chapter marks the first sex-scene I've ever written on this site. Hope it wasn't horrible or awkward or anything. Please don't read it aloud.**


	6. Mistakes We Make

Mistakes We Make

* * *

**Disclaimer****: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything in the Fallout universe. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Hold Your Colour by Pendulum. God Bless Pendulum.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Tina. I told you'd I'd finish this f#%kin thing.**

* * *

_A glimpse of the future._

* * *

**ACCESSING BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL ARCHIVES:**

**PROCESSING...**

**PROCESSING...**

**ARCHIVE ACCESS GRANTED. ENTER KEYWORD(S) SEARCH.**

**ENTRY CONFIRMED: [STAR PALADIN MATTHEWS]**

**SEARCHING ARCHIVES:**

**PROCESSING...**

**PROCESSING...**

**ARCHIVE ENTRIES FOR [STAR PALADIN MATTHEWS] RETRIEVED. SELECT LOG ENTRY.**

**LOG ENTRY 216 RETRIEVED. LOG ENTRY READS AS FOLLOWS:**

_I've made a lot of mistakes._

_'We all make mistakes.' That phrase is supposed to comfort us in our failings, our misfortunes, but it gives me nothing. No sense of understanding, no comfort. My mistakes weigh on me like mountains, and only my accomplishments keep me from regretting everything. I'll carry my failures with me forever, as I've done my whole life. I'll take them with me to my grave. Better that than letting them get passed on._

_I remember my youth, my arrogance. I accepted only cold, hard facts. Anything less was discarded. Emotions were shunned upon. Wasted time was blasphemy. At their very best, I saw people as expendable, tools to be used until they could no longer provide necessary services. I cared little for anything. Looking back... I don't think I could have been anything different. There were things happening, events that I could not control and powers that I still don't understand, that shaped my existence even before I knew anything about them. Still, despite fate or whatever you want to call it, I made plenty of mistakes that were mine and mine alone. I blame myself, because I'm the only one to blame._

_I'm sorry. For what it's worth, if it's worth anything, I'm sorry for the things I've done._

_I regret the mistakes I've made._

* * *

He's been lost in the Wasteland for days.

It's his own fault. Wandering isn't exactly the smartest thing to do in a place where damn near everything is completely inhospitable. He should know better. He should have brought a bigger supply of water.

Ben Canning stumbles in the dirt, his throat dry and his heart pounding. His hands grip the earth, cutting furrows into the dust and sand. He's on his last legs. Less than that, really. He's done and he knows it. Part of him wants a Deathclaw or a Yao Guai to show up and just kill him quick. God knows that dying of thirst ain't exactly the most pleasant way to go.

The sun beats down on him ceaselessly, he's almost bleeding sweat. Ben takes deep, gulping breaths and finally falls to the ground, getting a face full of dirt for his troubles. He lies there for a moment, his breathing slowing with every moment.

_Maybe I'll see Mama again,_ he thinks as he struggles to breathe. _Maybe Mama will be there, and Melissa and ol' Joey. That would be nice, getting to see everybody again. It's not fun, livin' life all alone. Maybe it'll be nice and quiet where I'm going. Maybe there'll be a cool breeze._

Ben rolls over, choking on the dust that flutters around him as he turns to stare at the sky. _Maybe I won't hurt anymore when I go. Man, it's got to be pretty nice in heaven to justify all the shit I've had to deal with down here._

He gazes at the filth-stained sky above, thinking about his life. He remembers his mother, his sister, his older brother. He remembers burying his father and how the tears poured from his eyes. He remembers travelling with the great DC caravaners; Doc Hoff, Crazy Wolfgang, Lucky Harith, Crow. He remembers the sweet smell of the first girl he ever had and how her hair spilled around the pillow in long streaks afterwards. He remembers the first man he ever killed, how his hands shook around the grip of his pistol as the raider clutched stomach and howled before dying. He remembers a pretty girl in Rivet City, a girl with stunning silver eyes and short blonde hair, a girl he had never had the guts to talk to. It's something he still regrets.

_A whole life in this place and I never talked to that pretty girl. Man, knowin' how bad I feel now, I can't believe I didn't do it._

A single tear pools at the base of Ben's right eye. The sun is starting to dip beneath the horizon. He's going to die here, alone. He's not going to-

"Well now, what do we have here?"

A blurry shape appears in Ben's vision, towering above him like a dark monolith. He can't make out much, but he can make out a hat, a long coat and the sunlit wink of sunglasses.

"Please," Ben begs, "I need... need water. Please..."

The shadow leans in close to him, growing bigger and bigger in Ben's vision. "Looks like we got ourselves a little lost coon, don't we?" the shadow cackles in a mock-southern accent. "What's the matter, boy? Yo' momma forgit to give you some'o that sweet potater' pie you love so much? No grits and cornbread? You must be just plump tuckered out, aint'cha boy?" Another cackle, this one impossibly loud.

Ben's voice is almost non-existent, but he manages a few words. "Racist... racist motherfucker."

The shadow stands and brays laughter to the sky. Ben shakes in fear; it's the most horrible sound he's ever heard.

"Racist?" the shadow says as it claps its knee in laughter. "RACIST?" The shadow's voice has deformed into a lupine shriek, one that pierces the very core of Ben's soul. "I am many things, child, but I am no racist. I am the culmination of human existence, you petulant mongrel! You, on the other hand, are a weak, pitiful shell. You are nothing but regret and failure. You are nothing. I am _everything." _The shadow leans down and licks the side of Ben's face. Ben writhes in fear and pain, the shadow's tongue is freezing cold and burns like radscorpion venom.

The shadow whispers into Ben's ear. "You have no idea, child of mud and dirt, just how bad things are going to get. Be glad you shall not bear witness to what will happen, Mr. Canning. You will be the first, the first of many, but at least you will not be the _last_. I have a special something planned for _him._"

Ben's dried eyes go wide. _How did he know-_

He remembers the stories his mother told him. A timid woman, Ben's mother was by no means a traveled wastelander like her husband and children. But she always had stories of the place, all of them dark and awful. The story that is dragged kicking and screaming out of Ben's mind is that of the Walkin' Man, a specter that haunted the wastes in search of those who were about to die.

_"You'd best be on the lookout when you're wanderin,"_ Ben's mother would say, rocking in her chair and staring out onto the horizon. Her eyes would shake with fear and her palsied hands would rub themselves nervously as she spoke. _"He's out there, the Walkin' Man. He's a hunter, a wolf with a man's face. He'll find you if you're not careful. He'll find you and swallow you up. I love you, Benny. Don't let Him find you. He'll swallow you and you'll know His name."_

Ben clumsily reaches for his laser pistol. It's in his hands and he points it at the Walkin' Man, his fingers trembling. "Bang," Ben whispers as he pulls the trigger.

Water splashes across the front of the Walkin' Man's coat. His grin widens even further and he places his hands on his hips. "Well now, that was not very useful, was it?"

Astounded, Ben looks at his weapon. The laser pistol is no longer in his hands. In its place is a water-pistol made out of cheap orange plastic. There's a crack in the toy's handle and water drips out of it and stains the dirt on his wrist. He struggles weakly to bring the water to his face. In his thirst he's forgotten about the Walkin' Man. He's forgotten about shadows.

There. The water's so close. Ben can smell it. It dribbles on his neck and gives him goosebumps. He brings the broken toy to his face and dips it toward his mouth.

Sand.

Ben flails in the dirt and spits out sand. The toy that was once in his hand is now a rusted can filled with sand. The last of Ben's strength leaves him and he lets the can drop from his grip. His mouth is impossibly dry now and his tongue feels like sandpaper. Ben stares into the eyes of the Walkin' Man and trembles.

The Walkin' Man reaches down and lifts Ben's limp form off the ground. "And the last shall be first, and the first, last." The blazing sun casts darkness over the Walkin Man's face, but Ben's eyes are still wide with terror as he is pulled closer. The Walkin' Man is a blazing, horrid grin of white teeth and spittle. The shadow has become a wolf, a demon, a predator with no equal.

"Fear not," the demon whispers as Ben cringes. He can hear its teeth sliding across each other in anticipation. "I will not waste your flesh as you have wasted your life, Ben. I will pick you clean." The Walkin' Man's voice becomes a whisper, His words gentle as a lover's gaze. "So sweet. Blood so sweet."

Ben hears the gnashing of teeth and it grows closer. He screws his eyes shut and tries to scream, but his voice has left him. _I'll just close my eyes and think of silver eyes silver eyes no teeth no darkness just pretty silver eyes silver eyes sliver eyes silver eyes-_

_He can see her, the pretty girl with silver eyes. She's there, at the bar in Rivet City. Her eyes are kind and sad, as if she knows some horrible secret. He walks over to her, he's not thirsty and his legs are working just fine. Ben sits on the bar stool next to her, his hands a little shaky but his smile quiet and genuine._

_"Hi there, my name's Ben Canning."_

_She giggles, and it's all Ben needs to die happy. She looks at him with those beautiful eyes and opens her mouth to speak, thin lips parting deliciously._

_"So sweet," the girl coos at him. Her face deforms and Ben stares into the black eyes of a wolf. Her grinning maw is filled with razor sharp teeth. Blood and spittle drip from her fangs as a long pink tongue slides across them._

"Blood so sweet."

Ben Canning hears the Walkin' Man's voice and His name becomes very clear. All he has to do is look. All Ben has to do is look and he will _know_.

Ben Canning opens his eyes and screams forever.

* * *

Gabriel's eyes shoot open.

He doesn't scream. He doesn't move. He barely breathes. He lies there in bed, his knuckles white as he holds his sheets in a death grip. His teeth are clenched and his forehead is damp with cold sweat.

He's alone, but that's all right. Lucy doesn't stay over anymore. He wants to get lucky, he stays at her place. No, he's alone, and he's home. He's safe in his home. No shadows.

No teeth.

_Man, I've got a fucked up psychosis. I've got to stop eating before I got to bed._

Gabriel wills himself to fall asleep. He's got another long day tomorrow, and he'll need the energy.

Regardless, he stays awake for a long time.

* * *

_Sarah doesn't recognize anything._

_It's green, that's obvious enough. Not the green of paint or decay, though. No, she's seeing something different. Lush foliage. Tall trees covered in healthy leaves. The chirping of summer birds. She's never experienced anything like it, but she knows it like instinct. There's peace here. Serenity. She can't remember feeling this good, or this helpless._

_Sarah walks through the forest, the wet earth cool against her bare feet. For some reason she's wearing a white night gown that stops just above her knees. She's never worn a night gown in her life. __"Crazy dream," Sarah thinks as she walks. __She's surrounded by flowers and ferns, things she's ever only heard about in stories or seen in the shattered remains of picture-books. The smells of raw earth, of morning dew, of plant life, it's almost intoxicating. She marvels at it, all of it. _

_She stops dead when she realizes she's not alone._

_There, ahead in a clearing of grass. A lone figure stands, a statue against green. The statue is dressed in a pair of simple bluejeans and a clean white shirt. Its right arm is outstretched and a blue butterfly rests on still fingers._

_She approaches, knowing that it's only a dream but frightened all the same. She reaches the statue and it turns to her, a smile set on its features. Not a statue, a man. A man with gentle blue eyes and unkempt dark hair. His feet are bare like hers._

_"Go on, little thing," he whispers. The butterfly departs, floating lazily up into the sunlight. Sarah follows it with her eyes until it's out of sight. She looks back at the man and he smiles wider, his eyes shining. "We're all alone now," he says quietly. _

_Sarah manages a nod. "Sure. Sure we are."_

_The man turns and walks away. Sarah reaches out a hand tries to stop him, but her fingers fall short. "Wait!" she calls, more terrified than she's ever been. "Who are you?"_

_He stops for a brief moment and looks back at her, sadness in his eyes. "You don't know me yet," he breathes, "But you will. I'm what will be. You'll save me. You'll save everything."_

_He walks away and-_

* * *

Sarah wakes up.

She's in the Citadel, she recognizes that instantly. She can hear Dusk snoring nearby. It's strangely reassuring.

The Sentinel gives clock by her bed a brief glance and groans. 3:42 A.M. Less than two hours before her day begins. She's got her duties to attend to before she's clear to leave, but that doesn't discourage her. It'll be good to get a break, even if it's only a day.

She drifts off to sleep, the strange dream lost in darkness.

* * *

_Later That Morning_

* * *

"You sure about this, Sentinel?"

Dusk frowns as Sarah stuffs a canvas bag with some supplies. "The Elder wasn't exactly thrilled when you told him you were taking time off. Maybe you should just unwind here. It would be less stress for him."

Sarah throws Dusk a glare. "He'll just have to deal with it, and I don't remember asking your opinion, Dawn Arai."

Dusk cringes at the sound of her real name. "Not so loud, Sentinel!" she pleads, casting nervous glances around the Den.

Sarah levels a glare in Dusk's direction. "There's nobody here, Knight Captain," she says, irritated. "Besides, everyone knows your name. Be glad you're not Gallows. Glade's still got that betting pool going for whoever can get his name right."

Dusk gives Sarah a strange look. "Do you know Gallows' name, ma'am?"

Sarah hides a grin as she checks the load on a laser pistol before strapping it to her. "Not my place, Dusk. And definitely not your caps, either. Better luck next time."

Dusk curses under her breath. "Okay," she says, less forcefully than before, "And you're sure Vargas is up to this? It's been a while, and-"

"I need a break, Dusk," Sarah says simply. "I haven't had even a day of leave in over a year. I didn't even take time after Cain died." A bleak memory threatens to surface, but she forces it away. "I need this, the Pride gets it and the Elder understands. You're the only one who seems to have a problem."

Dusk leans against a nearby wall and sighs. "Rivet City?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No, too many people down that way who know me. I don't want a headache. Tenpenny Tower is too snooty, Underworld has too many ghouls and Cantabury Commons is too far. I was thinking Megaton. Spend a day up that way, let Vargas handle the Pride for a while. I know he's been itching to take the reins. I haven't given him much leadership time."

Dusk crosses her arms. "You know I don't like working under Vargas, Sentinel. He's too pushy. Gallows and Colvin might work well in that environment, but a girl's got to have her space."

Sarah nods and tosses her bag over her shoulder. Out of her armor, she's oddly womanlike. Her curved and well toned figure is only further accented by the leather mercenary outfit she's donned in place of her regular armor. She's still armed to the teeth, however. Dusk spots a laser pistol at Sarah's side, as well as a ripper hooked to her belt and her trusty laser rifle on her back. A pair of plasma grenades finishes the gear check. She's ready for anything. She's Brotherhood.

"A girl does need her space," Sarah agrees. "That's why I'm proposing a limited-time offer to you, Dusk, and only you. Come with me. It's only for the day and I'd rather not have to go alone."

Dusk considers the proposal for a moment. "A day off in Megaton or taking orders from Vargas... hmm. Tough choice." Her voice is laced with obvious sarcasm.

Sarah smiles warmly. "Get your things together, Knight Captain. We're leaving within the hour. And leave your armor here, we don't want to attract too much attention."

"Sure, but is there even anything to do in Megaton? It's just a backwater, isn't it?"

Sarah shrugs. "Sure, but it's a backwater away from here. I could use a stiff drink, and I hear they opened up a new eatery a while back. The Brass Lantern. I'd like to see if it's any good. Megaton is quiet. I need that, if only for a little while."

Dusk nods and walks over to her locker, stripping off her armor and trading it in for a simple black tanktop, green combat fatigues and a pair of black steel-toed boots. Compared to Sarah, Dusk is less shapely, thinner and she stands a little shorter than her friend. She's also, much to her disappointment, not as well endowed as the Sentinel. _She's got bigger boobs and a nicer butt than me,_ Dusk thinks with some disdain. _Lucky._

"Sounds like a plan," Dusk says after a moment. "It's been a while since I had a day off. Maybe I won't have to shoot anything." She glances into a shard of mirror and frowns. She tugs the bobby pin out of her hair and lets her long black tresses fall down her back and shoulders. "Much better. Lemme grab my stuff and we're all set."

Sarah nods and glances down at the holo-tags around her neck. She cups them in her hands for a moment and releases them with a sigh. "Make it fast, Dusk," she says quietly.

"I need a break from this place."

* * *

"Gimme a goddamn break," Gabriel mutters.

Gabriel sighs and huddles against the weathered wall of a pre-war house. "Stop fuckin' shooting at me!" he shouts into the wind. His fingers are tightly wrapped around the laser rifle in his hands. The sun glints off of the well-polished metal, an obvious contrast to the scuffed and dirt-caked combat armor he's wearing. A castoff from a dead Talon Company merc, Gabriel has re-painted the armor a sandy brown color, to better match the shades of the Capital Wasteland. His Kevlar vest is snug but comfortable underneath. Gabriel is very pleased with his new gear.

Not that the armor and its new paint job are doing any good against the sniper that's currently trying to kill him.

Gabriel risks poking his head around the side of the house. He pulls back quickly as yet another shot whips past him, stinging the air. "Oh for fuck's sake," he grumbles angrily, "I'm not here to hurt you!" he shouts, trying to sound composed despite the gunfire. "I just want to talk, goddamn it! Knock it off!" He wipes a clump of sweaty hair out of his eyes with a hand that is close to shaking.

"Not gonna take me!" an older man yells crazily, "You ain't gonna take me, no sirree! Ya ain't never gonna git me! Not in this lifetime!" Another shot screams past Gabriel's hiding place. The young explorer winces in reflex.

"Okay," Gabriel breathes angrily, "that's enough. That's damn well enough." He glances at his rifle to assure himself that the weapon's microfusion cell is still in place. He makes a mental plot to his next destination, the burned-out remnants of a pre-war car are nearby. It'll offer him a better view of his surroundings. A few quick breaths are all Gabriel needs to get himself ready.

He steps out from behind the house.

A gunshot slices along the side of his right arm, but Gabriel is already moving to new cover. His eyes are alert and searching; there's no telling how many other landmines are scattered around the area.

_Should have come last night, _he thinks as he dives along the dusty ground and up against the car, _old McCrazy wouldn't have spotted me in the dark. The goddamn mines would be easier to spot, too. Nice going, genius._

Gabriel can feel the deactivated landmines in his pack as he braces himself against the car. There's six of them in total, each spotted by his sharp eyes and deactivated by his nimble and knowing hands. He curses as he notices the blood dripping out of his arm. He yanks a strip of gauze out of his belt and wraps the wound quickly; irradiated dust is itchy enough without being in his bloodstream.

"Y'aint gonna take ol' Arkansas!" the madman shouts, ending his sentence with a wild shot that frays Gabriel's already strained nerves. "None'ya gonna git me! You got the others, but you ain't getting me! Ol' Arkansas is gonna blow yer sorry brains out all over the dirts! I'mma leave ya' for the bloatflies! Leave you for the dogs, sho'nuff!" Another wild shot. Arkansas is clearly off his rocker.

Gabriel grits his teeth. "Moira," he promises to empty air, "If this guy kills me I'm going to murder you. Going to Minefield was your idea, damn it." He hefts his laser rifle and fires a few blind shots. Gabriel can hear the man's strained curses as the laser bolts impact near Arkansas' position. Gabriel's angle is too low to get a decent shot as Arkansas' is holed up in the shell of a multi-story office building. _Got to hand it to the old fucker, _Gabriel admits quietly, _He couldn't have picked a better sniper's perch in the whole damn Wasteland._

The shots suddenly increase in volume as well as accuracy. One tears past Gabriel's head close enough to make his ears ring. He swears colorfully and crouches lower against the dirt. The mines in his pack clink together in a way that is slightly unnerving. He's got enough explosives on his person to vaporize himself a few times over. From bullet or bomb, getting shot in the back is an almost assured death.

Gabriel looks down at his belt. He's got a myriad of gadgets and items attached to the sturdy leather strap, everything an explorer could ever want on a trip in the wastes: a few syringes of Med-X, a trio of stimpacks, a large canteen filled with crisp, clean water, the old combat knife he's been lugging around since before leaving 101, a laser pistol complete with specialized holster, a few strips of brahmin jerky wrapped in old wax paper.

A cluster of frag grenades.

Gabriel risks a glance around the car. He can see them scattered in the rubble with careful, almost loving precision. Landmines. Arkansas has got the entire town rigged to blow at the slightest miss-step. Gabriel knows that he won't get out alive with the sniper and his landmines in the way. He needs a distraction. Thankfully, the best way to beat explosives is with more explosives.

Gabriel smiles grimly and pulls a grenade off his belt, palming the explosive with unnerving familiarity. He can't explain it, but there's a certain comfort he gets when he feels the rough surface of a military frag in the palm of his hand. The cold metal sphere is reassuringly light in his grip. It's... it's _right._ There's no other way to explain it.

He pulls the pin and counts to three before tossing it over his shoulder. The grenade bounces happily amongst the rubble before finally detonating with a satisfying spray of shrapnel and fire. Gabriel waits for a split-second as a series of landmines close to the blast detonate in rapid succession, triggered by the force of the grenade's explosion. The resulting detonation sends a thick cloud of dust and dirt into the air, obscuring Gabriel's view of Arkansas and his sniping perch.

Perfect.

Gabriel sprints into the gray cloud and fights the urge to cough into the dust. Breath held tight and laser rifle ready in hand, Gabriel moves through the dust until he finds suitable cover against the ruined wall of a nearby house. He can smell the centuries old paint that has been blistered by the heat of a nuclear explosion. It's the smell of death; varying in flavor, but unmistakable to those who know it. Gabriel stifles a sickened groan.

Meanwhile, Arkansas' mad rant has grown in pitch and fervor. "Your tricks ain't gonna fool ol' Arkansas, ya' piss-bag sum'bitch! I got yer number right here! I got it, and yer gonna get it too! You just wait! I'mma paste yer ass gud! Gonna make you holy, boy! C'mon out and git'chu sum'!"

Gabriel checks the charge on his laser rifle instead of rising to the madman's bait. Eight shots left. He's got another cell in his pack, but it's probably covered in landmines. No time to go rooting around in there. No time to do anything but survive.

Gabriel grits his teeth as he steps around the wall, his rifle raised, and fires a cluster of shots in Arkansas' general direction. A single shot from Arkansas' rifle flattens against the ground nearby and Gabriel is quick to get back into cover. He looks down at his ammo tally again. Only three shots left.

"Arkansas," Gabriel says loudly, his anger reaching a boiling point, "You need to cut this shit out before you get yourself killed. You're messed up and you need help and I'll be more than happy to give it to you. Just stop, fucking, shooting at me."

Nothing from the sniper. No gunshots, no mad screeching. Gabriel's spirits rise. _I'm getting through to the old coot._

"You going to play nice, Arkansas? Are we going to talk this over like people?"

Silence.

Gabriel places his life in the hands of fate. "I'm going to step out into the open. I'm putting my gun away. I just want to talk." He straps the laser rifle to the small of his back, just under the bottom of his pack. "I'm coming out now, okay? No shooting. Just talk. That's all I want."

Gabriel steps out of safety. His hands are raised in a gesture of surrender. He's a perfect target, an easy catch for even the worst of snipers. Gabriel looks up at Arkansas and his eyes go wide. "You've got to be kidding me."

Arkansas, his thin and wasted frame sprawled against a nearby wall, is missing from the neck up.

Gabriel sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Lucky shot," he mutters. He paces back and forth for a moment before remembering that he's in Minefield. His sharp eyes pick out several nearby landmines and Gabriel moves cautiously through the rubble of the old town, disarming explosives as he goes. He almost kills himself twice in the process; he doesn't see one mine until it's almost too late and in his later nervousness he almost drops a second mine. A few close calls aren't enough to deter him, and after a few more minutes of scavenging Gabriel adds a sizable collection of mines to the group in his pack.

Gabriel places the last mine into his pack and shakes his head angrily. "Stupid old man. Shouldn't have shot at me like that. Old fool."

Gabriel slides the pack onto his back and proceeds up a set of concrete stairs that lead to Arkansas' perch. Each step is heavier than the last. The wind gently caresses him as he trudges up the stairs to the withered corpse. Gabriel reaches the top level and sighs as he looks down on the dead sniper. He can tell that the man must have been a medical nightmare even before getting his head vaporized. The torn, ragged clothes on the corpse are stained and crusted with diseased pus and dried blood. Gabriel gingerly slices Arkansas' shirt open with his combat knife and pulls the garment open. "Oh god," Gabriel breathes, "leprosy." Arkansas' body is riddled with skin lesions. Gabriel takes a step away from the corpse and his foot brushes against the sniper's fallen rifle. He reaches down and picks up the weapon, looking it over with a practiced eye.

The rifle itself is a standard, lightweight military model. ".308 hollow point rounds," Gabriel says quietly. "Hell of a punch." He turns the rifle over in his hands. Unlike its owner, the rifle appears to be in excellent condition. The rifle, while still worn and aged like any other pre-war weapon, is in peak condition and is polished to a dull gray shine. Gabriel looks down at the corpse at his feet. "You took better care of this gun than you took care of yourself, old man. Don't know whether I should be impressed or scared." Gabriel racks the slide on the rifle and cradles it in his arms. It's fast, accurate and deadly.

In short, the .308 is the same as him.

He begins scrounging around Arkansas' home, looking for anything of value. He gathers a good-sized amount of clips for the sniper rifle, though Gabriel knows he'll have to trade for more once he gets back home to Megaton. Other than the ammo and a few unopened boxes of Dandy Boy Apples, Arkansas is a pauper. Gabriel has no idea how the old man lived for as long as he did.

There are scratches on the walls.

Gabriel looks around, alarmed. The whole perch is covered in thin scratches, groups of five with the fifth crossing over the first four. Days. Arkansas had been counting the days. There are hundreds of scratches. Hundreds upon hundreds. Gabriel can't fathom how long Arkansas has been here, protecting his town, his home, his Minefield.

Something wells up inside him. Regret? No, not going to happen. No time to regret strangers. He pushes it back down.

Gabriel walks back over to Arkansas' body. He has no way to bury the old man, no matter how much he wants to. Gabriel contents himself with laying the sniper's body flat on the ground. He reaches down and places the old man's hands over his weathered and still chest. Gabriel looks down at the headless body. He won't bring himself to admit sorrow for a man he had never known, a man who had tried to kill him. Respect he can give, but not sorrow.

"You were one tough son of a bitch," Gabriel mutters to the headless man. It seems appropriate. Arkansas takes the compliment quietly.

Gabriel walks past Arkansas one last time, the .308 cradled in his arms. He glances at a wall nearly covered in day markers. Living so long, fighting so long, only to be forgotten like this? Gabriel won't let it happen. His fingers find the combat knife at his belt. With real reverence, Gabriel Matthews carves a single word into a nearby wall. He carves it into a space where there are no marks, a space where time stands still.

Arkansas.

Gabriel looks down at the name carved into the old wall. It doesn't seem finished. After a moment he glances down at the rifle in his grip. He sets it down and carves the old man's name into the weapon's stock. Now Arkansas is more than just a memory, more than just a corpse.

Now Arkansas can finally be free.

Gabriel walks down the stairs and away from Minefield. He doesn't think he'll ever return. It doesn't matter now. The sun blazes quietly in the sky as Gabriel begins the trek home, his new weapon held ready in his arms. "Let's get gone, Arkansas," Gabriel says to his rifle. The gun obliges silently.

"Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

* * *

"Sentinel, we've got trouble."

Sarah nods and looks out over the horizon. The mid-day sun is warm on her face. She can seen faint figures in the distance, five in total. She knows what they are because they're screaming and hollering. Human voices.

Raiders.

Dusk yanks her sniper rifle off her back in one fluid motion. Though the Knight-Captain's head is also uncovered, the sniper is wearing a pair of old driving goggles to keep her eyes clear. She hefts the rifle in her hands, pausing for a moment to adjust the scope. Dusk's eyes are hard beneath her goggles.

"You look like an idiot in those," Sarah says as she draws her laser rifle.

Dusk shrugs and settles into a firing stance. "My eyes are my weapon, Sentinel. Need them clean, power helmet or no power helmet." Her breathing stills and Dusk fires. A head explodes off in the distance. The remaining raiders howl and charge forward, hefting melee weapons or spraying inaccurate gunfire as they sprint towards the women.

Sarah glances sidelong at her sniper. "Dusk-"

"I know," the Knight Captain breathes as she fires another shot and makes another corpse, "Gun guys first." A third shot. A third body hits the ground. Two left. "I think I can do them before they get within range." A fourth shot. An arm spins into the air, weaving patterns of blood behind it.

The last raider is too close.

He snarls and tears into a full sprint, an ancient Chinese officer's sword tight in his grip. The raider is a mess of blood, dirt, and questionable smells. His eyes are bloodshot. Sarah guesses he's been taking Jet.

She doesn't much care.

A quick motion and Sarah's laser rifle is at the ready. She pulls the trigger twice. The first bolt of energy slices into the raider's poorly protected chest and leaves a smoking, cauterized hole. The raider manages a pained screech just before Sarah's second shot vaporizes his throat and lower jaw. The raider stumbles, his eyes wide in silent horror, before his body registers its death. He claws wretchedly at the air and spasms in the dirt for a moment before he finally goes still.

Sarah sighs and watches the raider's death without emotion. "Today was supposed to be my day off, damn it."

Dusk reloads her weapon. "Not your fault, Sentinel. Idiots, all of them. Bunch of barbarians, fighting like that. No sense to them at all."

Sarah nods quietly. "They don't care about that kind of thing, Dusk. They've given in to baser instincts. They've devolved. They're no better than the super mutants. Worse actually, because at least the super mutants aren't human anymore."

Dusk spits on the ground. "Don't remind me. Fuckin' freaks."

Sarah is silent. It's easier to kill something when you're angry. Raiders, ghouls, super mutants, they're all the same when she's ready for war. She doesn't like that feeling, the feeling of battle, the feeling of death. It's instinctive now, buried so deep inside her that it's taken over most of her life. She's always going to be a soldier. She'll never be anything else.

Sarah straps her rifle to her back once more, very aware of how automatic the gesture is. "You ever think we'll get a break, Dusk?" she asks quietly, "Do you ever think we'll be able to leave this all behind us one day?"

Dusk looks at Sarah, slightly puzzled by the question. "Honestly, Sentinel? No, I don't think we're ever going to be able to sit back and let shit run its course. And honestly, I don't think I'd ever want that anyway. I'm way too good at killing to stop now. I'd go stir-crazy if I didn't get to snipe anything."

Sarah sighs. "Lot of help you are, Knight Captain."

Dusk shrugs and gives Sarah a cryptic look. "Just telling it honest, Sentinel. I'm not much for conversation, you know that. Kodiak's better at this 'soldier's soul' crap than I am." A short laugh punches a hole in Dusk's thought. "Hell, Kodiak's good at pretty much anything he sets his mind to. Lucky SOB, being as versatile as he is."

Sarah nods in the direction of Megaton. "C'mon Dusk."

"We've got some walking to do."

* * *

"Hell of a walk."

Gabriel looks down the remains of an old pre-war highway. The age-old concrete road is broken and shattered in hundreds of places along its course, and that's what Gabriel can see. The road stretches far beyond his line of sight and off into the distance. The wind hisses around it and kicks up pockets of dirt and dust. Gabriel suppresses a shiver. There's something about the sight that is unnerving, even haunting.

It's been over a week since waking up from his coma, but you'd never guess by the way Gabriel's been working that he was incapacitated. He's spent the last few days helping out with repairs in Megaton, getting his house together, and dealing with a sometimes-irritating girlfriend, a sarcastic robot, and a crazy woman with dreams of a Wasteland Survival Guide. In any spare time he has, Gabriel has taken to trekking the nearby Wastelands, scouting for supplies and putting down raiders and irradiated predators. It's dirty, hard work, but Gabriel doesn't mind the life or death fighting. It's a good break from the day-to-day normalcy he's had to put up with.

"There you are."

Gabriel's laser pistol is in his hands in a flash and he turns slowly. There are three Talon Company mercs behind him, their weapons drawn and sadistic grins on their faces. The lead merc, a dusty fellow with a shaved head, walks forward, a police baton in hand. "Lookie here, boys. Guess ol' Tenpenny's info was right. Found the sonofabitch just wanderin' out here like he owns the damn place." His vicious eyes fix on Gabriel's cold ones. "There's a lot of money going to the crew that kills you, kid. Enough to make me and my boys here very rich men." Gabriel eyes the merc's companions and his mind switches gears. _Talon leader, male, approx. 6'0''. Distance less than six feet. Police baton. Frag grenades. Second Talon, left, male approx. 6'4''. Distance seven feet. Sawed-off shotgun. Combat knife. Third Talon, right, male approx. 5'7''. Distance just under eight feet. Assault rifle. 10mm pistol. Pulse grenade._ A side thought occurs, this one simple and frightening._ Kill. Them. All._

Gabriel's grip tightens around his laser pistol, due less to the threat the Talon pose and more from the homicidal urge that has crept into his combat analysis. "I think you've got the wrong man, friend." _Get. Closer. You. Prick._

The merc and his friends cackle loudly. "Friend? Oh man, that's some funny shit. I ain't no friend of yours, kid. No, I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare." The merc makes a show of stepping closer, his steps confident and measured. He pulls a scrap of torn paper from a pant pocket and holds it up like a trophy before bringing it in front of his eyes to read. "Name: Gabriel Matthews. Age: 19. Hair Color: Black. Eye Color: Blue." The merc's face distorts into a greedy grin. "Bounty: 5,000 caps. Dead or Alive." The merc looks up at Gabriel. "That's you, kid. You're my meal ticket."

One of the Talon's buddies grunts laughter. "Man, this kid don't look like he's much of anything, but he fits the bill."

Gabriel shrugs and his death-grip on his pistol loosens. "Guess so. It does sound like me, that's for sure." _Closer. You. Prick._ He laughs and the mercs joins him. They stand there and laugh, ignoring the pounding heat and the dusty air. After a moment of laughter, the lead Talon takes another step forward and pats his police baton against his thigh, grinning while he does so. "You gonna make this easy, kid?" the merc asks, his grin widening as he takes another step. Gabriel grins right back and holsters his pistol.

"Nope." _Kill._

He rushes forward and grabs the Talon's arm, breaking it with a swift punch and forcing the merc to drop the baton into the dust. Before the merc can even register the fact that he's howling in pain, Gabriel spins him around just in time for the Talon to witness a double-dose of buckshot headed straight for his face. The Talon's head explodes, to the horror of his shotgun wielding subordinate, and the team-killing merc furiously scrambles for another pair of shotguns shells. The third merc, his rifle half-raised and his eyes wide, flails as Gabriel pushes the dead Talon's body in his direction. The corpse somehow ends up tangled around the merc and he falls to the ground with a panicked curse.

Gabriel, his fake smile long since evaporated, calmly draws his laser pistol and vaporizes the face of the shotgun-wielding merc. The man drops silently and is dead before he hits the ground. Gabriel walks over the the last merc and kicks the Talon's assault rifle out of reach. The merc curses and reaches for his pistol but Gabriel's booted foot crushes the Talon's fingers. The merc, still trapped by the dead weight of his dead friend, howls in pain. Gabriel reaches down with one hand and yanks the pulse grenade off of the merc's belt, his thoughts dangerously violent. He's not fully in control of himself, and he knows it. What's frightening to Gabriel is that he no longer cares.

The Talon's cries become muffled moans as Gabriel shoves the pulse grenade into the merc's mouth, shattering several teeth and breaking the man's jaw. He thumbs the grenade's safety and quickly moves out of the pulse radius. The merc sits up, his face a bloody mess, and manages a fearful look just before the pulse grenade goes off in his mouth. The grenade, while normally only a major threat to robots and electronic systems, fries the Talon's synapses in an instant. The merc's eyes roll back into his head and he gurgles his own blood as he tries to breathe, his mind gone and his body slowly dissolving. The Talon dies seconds later, a mercy for the horrible, mindless shell.

Gabriel sighs and suddenly he's okay again, his thoughts organized and intricate and murder far from his mind. He looks down at the corpses and down at his hands. _I did this. I did this and I don't give a damn about it._ He looks out to the horizon, his eyes cold and his voice hard. "You got anything else for me, Wasteland?" Silence is his only answer. "Thought so."

He kneels down next to the headless Talon and pulls the bounty note from the man's corpse. It's splattered with blood in a few places, but the words are still legible. He scrolls down the list of his personal information, wondering where Talon could have gotten it from, before focusing on a missive at the bottom of the note.

_To all interested parties within Talon Company,_

_The man in the above description recently murdered a very useful employee of mine, one who was just as valuable to my organization as he was to yours. You know him as Mr. Burke, a man of considerable intelligence and aptitude. Mr. Burke was on assignment for me when he was unexpectedly killed by the aforementioned individual in Megaton. Burke took the liberty of forwarding me the name and description of his antagonist before he was killed, as a contingency plan. Those interested in avenging Mr. Burke's tragic murder would do well to hunt around the outskirts of Megaton, as our intrepid and inconveniencing friend has been known to spend his time alone in the Wasteland. When the deed is done and proof of so is divulged, you may report to Commander Jabsco for your reward. I will forward the payment to him once the kill has been confirmed._

_Hunt well, my psychotic friends,_

_Tenpenny_

Gabriel crumples the note in his hand. "Well now, guess Gabriel is a popular boy these days." He looks down at his Pip-Boy and opens up a new document. A quick bit of typing and Gabriel saves the document, tossing the crumpled note aside. He spends a few moments looting the Talon corpses, stuffing the small assortment of ammo, gear and caps into his pack. He makes his search quick, the heat of the day is beating down on him and he doesn't relish running out of water.

Gabriel turns away from the carnage and continues his slow march back to Megaton. His legs are getting tired from all the walking he's been doing and his body is still trying to deal with the recent trauma he's endured. It's been two days since his miraculous recovery, and Gabriel continues to push himself further into the Wasteland with each day.

_Why is that? _he wonders silently. _What exactly is out here that's worth risking your life over? Profit? No chance; you've got enough skill sets to keep you nice and financially secure right in Megaton._

"Maybe it's the sake of adventuring," he says aloud. The landmines and assorted other valuables in his pack clink together as he walks. It's a nice contrast against the wail of the wind.

_Not that either,_ he reminds himself, _you've got no sense of adventure. Natural human curiosity, sure enough, but only an idiot would go back into the Wasteland alone day after day like this. All you are is reason, Gabe-my-boy, so what's the reason behind all this?_

Gabriel stops in mid-stride. "The reason..." he whispers. He searches himself for an answer, something that will make sense. He suddenly finds it, a reason so simple it's a wonder he thought of it at all.

"There's something out there," he says quietly, "There's something out there, and it's waiting for me."

The wind howls, as if in agreement. Gabriel shudders and walks on, discarding his thoughts and fears like unwanted trash.

Persistent things, they follow him like the dust that whips around his ankles.

* * *

**NOTES RECORDED TO PIP-BOY 3000**

**USER: GABRIEL MATTHEWS**

**CATEGORY: HIT LIST**

**ENTRIES- FOUR (4)**

**PRIORITY 1 TARGETS (PEOPLE WHO ARE [CURRENTLY] TRYING TO KILL ME):**

_EVERYONE IN TALON COMPANY. TENPENNY. ALL THE RAIDERS. MOIRA BROWN (SLIGHT SARCASM HERE)_

**PRIORITY 2 TARGETS (PEOPLE WHO HAVE TRIED OR THREATENED TO KILL ME [AND MAY ATTEMPT TO DO SO AGAIN]):**

_JERICHO. MORIARTY. ALPHONSE ALMODOVAR. MOIRA BROWN (MORE SARCASM)_

**PRIORITY 3 TARGETS (PEOPLE WHO I WILL KILL IF I HAVE TO [AND REGRET LATER IF AT ALL]):**

_LUCY WEST. LUCAS SIMMS. STOCKHOLM. DOC CHURCH. NOVA. GOB. MOIRA BROWN (NO SARCASM THIS TIME)_

**PRIORITY 4 TARGETS (PEOPLE I'D LIKE TO ****KILL):**

_CONFESSOR CROMWELL. MOIRA BROWN. DAD._

**END NOTES**

* * *

Dusk and Sarah are standing on a gantry that overlooks most of Megaton. Sheriff Simms was the first one to greet them when they arrived, as expected, and he had instantly recognized the Brotherhood's Sentinel from the start. It's something Sarah is honestly glad for; seeing Simms alive and well is a good sign, especially considering how bad things are in the Wasteland.

"You ladies are free to stay for as long as you please," Simms tells them, "I'm always happy to have Brotherhood hereabouts. I can take your rifles down over to the Armory for lockup until you want'em back."

Sarah nods at Lucas Simms and hands him her laser rifle. He's one of the few outsiders she trusts, and the fact that she's willing to relinquish her weapon to him speaks volumes of Simms' character. "Thank you, Sheriff. If at all possible, though, I'd like it if we weren't Brotherhood while we're in your town, if you understand my intention."

Simms nods from underneath his massive cowboy hat, his bushy beard scrunched into a smile. "O'course. Nobody's gonna know who you are from me."

Dusk glances over her shoulder at her sniper rifle. "If it's all the same to you, I'll hang on to mine. You understand."

"Course' I do," Simms says with a smile. "Hell, I couldn't pry Stocky away from his rifle even if I wanted to. No way, no how. Most snipers are like that." He smiles a little warmer and turns back to Sarah. "How's the Elder these days? Still cantankerous as ever?"

Sarah returns the smile, though it's not as big as the one Simms is giving her. "More or less. We're making some progress these days, so he's been a bit less stressed." _And he's poking his nose into other people's business, _she thinks quietly.

Simms nods. "Glad to hear it. Things ain't gettin' any easier, but it's good to know the Brotherhood is still fighting for what's right in this godforsaken place."

Sarah looks out over Megaton. The town is bustled and lively, something she's hard pressed to ever remember seeing. "The town seems to be a lot more active than it was the last time I was here, Sheriff."

Simms smiles broadly as he looks over his town, his charge. "True enough. Things have been pretty interesting these past few weeks, I tell you what. We almost got wiped out by Talon Company a few days back, but the Vault kid really pulled through and saved this town. Shut down the nuke, too. He's a regular hero."

Dusk raises an eyebrow. "Vault kid?"

Simms laughs and scratches his beard. "Heh, sorry 'bout that. Sometimes the talk of the town feels like the talk of the world, if you get my meaning. About a week and half' ago this kid comes stumbling out of the Vault. I found him, half dead from dehydration and brought him back here. That night he went out and killed a whole mess of raiders in the old school building nearby. Next day he killed this crazy guy who was trying to set off the nuke and helped us to wipe out the Talon Company that the guy had with him."

Sarah raises an eyebrow. "A kid? Really?"

Simms guffaws laughter. "He's a kid to my years, hehe. Naw, Gabriel's about nineteen, twenty. Smart as a whip, too. He's got Moira and his robot building some kinda' a lab up in that house over there." Simms points over at a taller building over the Brass Lantern. "We gave him the place and he's obsessed over it since. Been all kinds of stuff coming in and out of that house. Guns, tech, furniture. He's selling what he doesn't need and he's buying up what he does. When he's at home he's always workin' on this project he's got goin'. He works for hours and then comes out to help around the town. Least I can tell, the boy doesn't sleep. He's a machine. It's a bit frightening, to be honest."

Dusk glances at the building. "So he's a workaholic with a hard-on for science. I can show you a dozen Scribes back at the Citadel who are the same way."

Simms chuckles and straightens the brim of his sheriff's hat. "Miss Dusk, I ain't never heard of one of your Scribes shuttin' down a big ol' bomb like what we've got here."

Sarah crosses her arms. "So where is this Vault savior you're so hung up on?"

Simms shrugs. "Hell if I know. Gabriel went out into the wastes this mornin'. Headed up north. He's been doin' research and writin' for some book that he and Moira been cooking up. Something bout' a 'Wasteland Survival Guide', or somesuch." Simms shakes his head. "The idea of it all. Some boy barely set foot into the wastes and a woman with writin' a book on how to survive in all this mess." He smiles knowingly at Sarah. "People do some strange things, don't they?"

Sarah rolls her eyes. "You're telling me," she says, her mind drifting back to the raiders from earlier.

Simms laughs warmly and looks down at the bomb. "Hell, least now I can sleep easier. But listen to me, rattlin' on like I'm Nathan Vargas." Simms turns back to Sarah. "Speakin' of which, how's Nathan's boy doing? Tomas is with you, isn't he? Part of that Pride?"

Sarah nods. "He is. I'm not allowed to get into it more than that, though. Can't give out-"

"Brotherhood secrets," Simms finishes for her. The bearded man chuckles. "You and your father are cut from the same cloth, sure enough." Simms clears his throat and nods at the two women. "Best be getting back to my rounds, ladies. You need anything, you just let me know. Enjoy your stay in Megaton." He nods politely and walks away, whistling as he goes.

A light smile appears on Dusk's otherwise stoic face. "There goes a Wasteland miracle, Sentinel; a decent human being."

Sarah nods. "Yep." She leans in close to Dusk and her voice drops to a whisper. "He used to be a Regulator."

Dusk's eyes go wide. "No shit. That scruffy old dude used to be a Regulator?"

A smile lights on Sarah's face at Dusk's reaction. She knows that the Knight-Captain holds the Regulators in extremely high regard. The Regulator's brutal style of Wasteland justice, along with their mysterious nature and near-mythical combat success, appeal very much to Dusk's combat-oriented sense of living. She's never said it aloud, but Sarah has a feeling that if Dusk ever had a falling out with the Brotherhood, the sniper would run straight to the Regulators.

Sarah suppresses a sigh. _Not that the Brotherhood's in any shape to lose more members, _she thinks. She places a hand on Dusk's shoulder and the Knight-Captain raises an eyebrow at her Sentinel. "Everything okay, ma'am?"

"Nothing to worry about," Sarah assures her with a smile, "Just too much thinking and not enough eating. I say we get some food in our stomachs."

Dusk lights up at that. "Damn right, grub time!"

Friends in the face of a post-Armageddon, Sarah and Dusk make a bee line for the Brass Lantern.

* * *

Gabriel shuffles into Megaton, his feet tired and his arms heavy. His weapons aren't what's weighing him down, despite how many he's carrying. No, it's the bag of supplies and landmines on his back that's giving him such a hard time. _I really need to figure out an exercise routine, _he muses.

He trudges down the slope towards Megaton's bomb; he's learned quick that the fastest way to get to Craterside supply is down the hill and then up a series of ramps that dangle over Church's clinic. A few locals wave at him and he returns their friendliness with tired nods. He spots Jericho as he makes his way up to Moira's, but the ex-raider is heading into Moriarty's. Gabriel presses forward, his mind set on relinquishing himself of his burden and getting paid.

He opens the door to Moira's shop and winces as a rancid stink fills his nostrils. "Christ alive, Moira!" he shouts, waving a free hand in front of his face, "What in hell did you do in here?"

"Oh that?" Moira replies, her voice slightly panicked, "Don't mind the smell, really! The air is perfectly safe to breathe." Even covered head to toe in soot her annoyingly happy smile is still bright and sunny. She spots Gabriel's bulging pack and squeals in delight. "Oh, did you bring me a present? Hopefully it won't go off prematurely like the last one!"

Gabriel's sigh is almost palpable. "Moira, I've got a backpack full of landmines. I hope to god that you're not planning on experimenting on them."

Moira laughs and walks over to her exhausted field researcher. Her eyes are bright and her smile warm, but Gabriel is in no mood. "Oh don't be silly. After all, there's only so much you can do with a landmine!" Moira scratches her chin for a moment. "And all of those things involve actual _land_. I wonder if we could do something about that? Maybe we could-"

"Moira, just give me my damn pay."

Moira looks puzzled for a moment, as if she has forgotten about Gabriel entirely. "Oh, right." She spots Gabriel's sniper rifle and her grin reappears. "Say, that sure is a nice weapon! Where'd you stumble across that piece of work?" She walks behind the counter and places her hands on its dirty metal surface, her hands actually dirtying the counter further.

Gabriel glances down at the rifle. "Found it," he says truthfully.

"You sure stumble across the neatest things, research assistant!" She reaches behind the counter and pulls up a small bag filled with caps, as well as a medium-sized crate filled with blue and white fission batteries. "Fully charged!" she huffs as she places the batteries on the counter, "just like you asked. These babies should keep your new lab space running for several decades!" She wipes a soot covered hand across her forehead and leaves a filthy black smear running across it. "But boy, they sure are heavy."

Gabriel's mood improves considerably as he sets down his bag and begins unloading mines onto Moira's counter top. "I've got about twenty mines here altogether. I don't know if they're anything you'd want to trade in, but it would really help if I could get rid of these things now instead of waiting for Lucky Harith to show up in town again."

Moira nods. "That old gunsmith isn't going to be back in town for another week, that's for sure! Well, I'll see what I can do after we take a few notes for the Guide, okay?"

Gabriel's mood sours almost instantly. "C'mon, Moira..."

She wags a finger at him and grabs a spiral notepad. "You know the rules, Gabriel. No pay until I've got some first-hand notes from my favorite second-hand source! Now spill, let's hear all about Minefield!" She pulls a well-chewed pencil out of her jumpsuit pocket.

Gabriel is quiet for a moment. Should he tell her about Arkansas, an old man who had rigged an entire ghost town to explode? Should he tell her about the madness in the man's voice, or the disease-ridden corpse that he had become?

"The whole place was covered in landmines. I barely got out alive." Both of Gabriel's statements are true without divulging everything to the eccentric woman standing across from him.

"And?"

Gabriel balks a little. "And what?"

Moira grins at him. "Any advice for potential mine-hunters? Anything that will keep them alive and ready to get out into that big ol' Wasteland?"

"Tell them to look for broken patterns in their environment. The cracks, the small details, those are where the mines are going to be." Gabriel looks down at his fingers. "Oh, and they need to have quick hands, too. It takes good reflexes to get past that detonation trigger without setting it off."

"Perfect!" Moira beams, her eyes practically glowing with excitement, "That's great, I can't wait to start making these diagrams!" She scribbles her notes down with undiminished enthusiasm.

Gabriel glances at the bag of landmines. "You're taking one of these things apart?"

More laughter from Moira. "Well, they're disarmed, aren't they? Knowing how mines work is key to understanding them, and understanding is the key to survival!"

"And this is the last chapter, right? We're all done?"

Moira throws her hands into the air, as if to say 'are you joking?' "Of course not, silly! We've got a long way to go before the Survival Guide is done! I'm working on ideas for the next chapter as we speak. Come back in a couple of days and I might have some more work for you!"

Gabriel shrugs. "Sure. Great. Can we do something about the rest of these mines?"

A few minutes later, Gabriel walks out of Craterside Supply with his box of fission batteries, his bag of caps, and an assortment of ammo and parts for his weapons. He's fond of his energy weapons, less moving parts means less maintenance, but the new sniper rifle is going to need extra care and he's got an assortment of solid-shot weapons in his home. Gabriel slowly makes his way to his front door, trying his best not to stagger under the weight of his equipment.

"Wadsworth, open up. My hands are full."

The door opens and Gabriel steps inside, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting. "Good to see you alive and well, sir," Wadsworth intones cheerily. Gabriel plods past his robot and sets his cargo down on a nearby dresser, one of the only spaces in the house not taken up by lab equipment.

In the days since Gabriel has moved in, the house has changed considerably. No longer a fixer-upper, Gabriel has modified his entire house into an adequate lab-space. Pre-war computer monitors decorate the walls and several processing stations have taken up the majority of the space in what used to be the living room. He's traded or given away most of the furniture in the home to make way for his lab equipment; all that remains are a few lockers, a refrigerator and Gabriel's bedroom furniture. In place of the previous normalcy, Gabriel has acquired a heavy-duty chemistry set and lab table, a workbench for repair and refit of his weapons, as well as a top of the line medical station, complete with defibrillator and several at-the-ready IV stands. He's not taking any chances.

Gabriel takes a moment to look around the house. It's musty, dark, and well-rusted in some places, but it's home. It's the lab he's always dreamed about, away from Vault restrictions and the Overseer. It's a place where he can experiment to his heart's content. It's a place where he can truly be free.

Gabriel turns to Wadsworth, a handful of batteries in his hands. "Go ahead and get these installed, Wadsworth. After you run the reboot, go ahead and continue with the tests you've been running. I want at minimum of six-thousand different scenarios by the end of this week, or however many more as you can process in that time."

The surprise in Wadsworth's voice is obvious. "Of course, master. The data you are asking for will take up much of my processing power, however, even if I transfer data among the larger computers in the lab."

Gabriel shrugs. "Do what you have to do, but this is the project that gets done, Wadsworth. This is what's important to me. Nothing else matters. This is Alpha."

Wadsworth plucks the batteries out of Gabriel's hand and begins installing them around the lab, floating silently between computers as he goes. "I understand, sir. Far be it from me to deny you your ridiculous requests."

Gabriel walks over to his fridge and pulls out a cold bottle of water. "Nobody asked your opinion."

"And yet I offered it anyway. My generosity knows no bounds."

Gabriel gulps his water down, he's almost painfully thirsty. "Just get it done. I want to begin tests sooner rather than later." He walks over to the workbench and places Arkansas gently on its surface. "I'm going to take a nap and then I'll be working on a few weapon modifications. Get me the supplies I need to build a sliencer big enough for a .308. I don't want anyone to be able to hear this thing after I'm done with it."

"Of course, sir. I'll have the parts waiting for you when you wish to begin." Wadsworth is silent for a moment, almost as if he's searching for the right words. "Miss West hasn't been by in a few days."

Gabriel reaches for a second water. "She complained about the lab equipment. Said it was too noisy and that it kept her up all night."

Wadsworth's voice is painfully hesitant. "Is she... well?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow in Wadsworth's direction. "She's not dead, if that's what you're wondering. Why are you asking?"

"She seemed distracted the last time she came to visit, as if something of great weight was on her mind. I merely inquired as to how she was holding up."

Gabriel scratches the back of his neck and leans against a nearby wall. "She's a girl. They've always got some problem or another on their minds. Not a big deal."

"Have you spoken with her about it?"

Gabriel glares at his robot. "Wadsworth, did I ask for relationship advice?"

Wadsworth's earlier haughtiness returns almost instantly. "Then you are in a relationship? My apologies, I was under the impression that you didn't care about the girl in the slightest."

Gabriel's anger deepens and he rubs the space between his eyes. There's a massive headache building there, and it's doing nothing to help his attitude. "It's none of your damn business."

"Of course, sir. I'll resume my work." Wadsworth floats away, a low hum emanating from his speakers.

_The damn robot is happier than I am_, Gabriel thinks. He groans and stomps upstairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him. The room is cramped, but Gabriel makes space on his desk for his weapons and carefully sets them down one by one until he's free of his killing tools. He slowly peels off his combat armor, revealing the sweat-dampened shirt and bulletproof vest beneath.

Gabriel listens to the low hum of his lab and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to vanish. His day is over, as far as he's concerned. _A little first-aid, then an nap._ Gabriel shrugs off the remaining armor until he's undressed and he sets the remainder of his gear aside before walking over to his desk and opening a small drawer. There's a bottle of water inside, but the glow coming from it is anything but healthy.

"Gotta love instant healing," Gabriel mutters to himself as he unscrews the bottle's cap and sets it on the desk. He unwraps the combat dressing on his arm, wincing a little as the bandage pulls away with dead skin and blood. He tosses the bandage into a nearby wastebasket and grabs the irradiated water, pouring a small amount on the open wound.

What happens next still fascinates Gabriel, no matter how accustomed he's become to his mutation. The wound begins to knit itself together, slowly disappearing until there's barely a scar left. No pain, no infection, no fussing with stitches or adhesive bandages. No mess, no fuss. After the wound has healed Gabriel takes the irradiated water and places it back in the desk, screwing the cap on tight.

Gabriel lies down in bed and checks his radiation level using his Pip-Boy. _Still under 30 rads. Best news I've gotten all day. _He leans back in his bed and closes his eyes, letting the soft hum of the nearby computer systems lull him into a sleep-like state.

A tapping on his bedroom door ruins Gabriel's serenity almost instantly. "Goddamnit, Wadsworth, what is it?"

"My most humble apologies, master," Wadsworth begins, though the robot on the other side of the door doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. "I forgot to mention earlier that Colin Moriarty stopped by with a message. He wishes to meet with you at your earliest convenience. He mentioned something about... 'puttin' paid to old wounds.' I'm not exactly sure what that entitles, but Mr. Moriarty's reputation suggests that 'puttin' paid' involves quantities of alcohol."

Gabriel sits up in bed, suddenly more awake than before. _What's that crafty old bugger want? Man like that doesn't apologize for shit that went down almost two weeks ago. Hell, man like that doesn't apologize for anything. He's got himself a plan, I'm sure of it._

Gabriel, against his better judgement, drags himself out of bed and groans as his legs ache in protest. He's going to be sore all day unless he does something about it. He rummages in his pack and grabs a syringe of Med-X. He swiftly administers the painkiller into his neck and rubs the spot where the needle went in. The skin is rough and he can feel the small nubs where he has injected previously. There isn't a mirror anywhere nearby, but Gabriel knows he's got a small cluster of track marks on the right side of his neck. He's not really concerned with it though, looks aren't high on his list of priorities. The painkiller, injected straight into his system, gives Gabriel an almost instantaneous feeling of relief. He feels better, but the voice in his head is as condescending as ever.

_You're developing a bit of an addiction, Gabe-my-boy. Painkillers? Pretty soon you'll be huffing century-old paint or jetting it up with Doc Church on his off hours._

"Don't care. I get a problem and I'll cook up something to clean out my system. Better living through chemistry. So fuck off."

The voice in his head vanishes almost as quickly as it had surfaced. He's learning to brush off the cynicism, the doubt. It's easier than it used to be. He's hardening himself and letting the scientist take over.

"Sir?"

Gabriel curses under his breath; he's forgotten about the robot outside his door. "Nothing, Wadsworth. Get back to what you were doing. I'm heading into town to see Lucy." He puts on a 'clean' shirt and pants and slips into his boots. "I need a fuck or a stiff drink," he mutters quietly as he grabs his knife and pistol off the desk. He checks the load on the pistol and slides the knife into his boot, blade down.

"And Mr. Moriarty?"

"Colin can go fuck himself. In the ear."

"I see."

_Might go see Nova if Lucy isn't up to it. Hell, she's probably better in the sack anyway._ A quick shake of the head is all Gabriel needs to clear his thoughts before opening his bedroom door and proceeding down the stairs. He passes Wadsworth on the way. The robot is silent as Gabriel strides past and slams the front door behind him.

"That young man is going to have to grow up someday." Wadsworth says quietly.

"Toughness does not equal invincibility."

* * *

"Colvin thinks he's so damn tough."

Dusk takes a swig of her beer and grimaces. She doesn't drink often, but the fact that the alcohol is centuries old doesn't help the taste. The Brass Lantern is quiet enough on the inside, the riffraff aren't as prolific indoors. Still, the small town feel has already worn Dusk thin. She's pretty and knows it, but the stares she's been getting all day are really starting to piss her off.

"So Colvin has the nerve to say that _he's_ the one who nailed that mutie Overlord in the eye, and I explain to him that there's no way he could have made that shot."

Sarah nurses her glass of vodka and smiles at Dusk. She's feeling better already, horrible Wasteland and Brotherhood problems aside. "And how exactly did it go from a simple conversation to a fistfight?"

Dusk shrugs and sets her bottle of beer on the counter. "I _may_ have used a few four-letter words. I also might have called him a 'glorious cockfiend,' and he may have gotten offended by it."

Sarah almost sneezes her drink through her nose and attempts to smother her laughter. "And you're the one who threw the first punch, you idiot. That's at least three strikes against you, if not more."

Dusk rolls her eyes and downs another gulp of beer. "Whatever. Colvin's a smug douche anyway. Somebody's got to take that delusional moron down a notch every once and a while. Might as well be me."

Sarah shakes her head in disbelief. "Here's me wondering how I managed to turn you all into the Brotherhood's best when you're at each other's throats."

Dusk rests a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "All your fault, Sentinel. Only thing people respect more than a man who can kick their asses is a woman who can do it twice as hard." Dusk gives her friend a playful nudge. "Plus, you know, the boobs. People seem to like boobs."

Sarah refrains from smacking her friend upside the head. "You're a real idiot sometimes, you know that?"

It's Dusk's turn to laugh. "Yeah, but I'm an idiot who knows how to use a gun. That makes me more valuable than anyone in the whole fuggin' Wasteland."

Sarah takes a sip of her vodka and gives Dusk a wry look. "Sure, I'll remember that next time I need to send a team out with Vargas."

Dusk sighs and takes another bitter drink from her beer. "Sentinel, we have got to get you laid."

* * *

He needs to get laid something fierce.

She wasn't at home, so Gabriel begins walking down the ramps to check at the Brass Lantern. He'll find her, pull out the charm, and get what he deserves.

"You sir, are the scourge of the Wasteland!"

Gabriel half turns at the sound of a whiny, pretentious voice. "I'm not dealing with you right now, Cromwell. Slink back to your god, or whatever the fuck you people do."

Cromwell huffs and his congregation mimics him. The Confessor isn't an intimidating man by any means. He's a thin, bony frame outlined by a scraggly, unkempt beard and a mop of sandy-blonde hair. Dressed in rags, Cromwell looks every bit the self-absorbed holy man. If the flock at his back is anything to go by, he's managed to confuse and brainwash more than a few people. They're nobody special, Gabriel notes, just scabs and fools who've been tricked because they don't know any better. Hell, the only reason Cromwell and his cronies are still alive are thanks to Gabriel's efforts. That doesn't keep them from harassing him about their ridiculous 'bomb god.'

"You sir," Cromwell says accusingly, "Are an affront to the divine spark that is Atom! You deny His works, His instruments, and mock His faithful! You profane his relics! You shall find no respite here, no sanctity among Atom's chosen! You are a pariah! When He comes with the clouds, you shall be left behind! When all other eyes are blind with His glory, you shall have your sight destroyed! When-"

Gabriel turns to Cromwell, his eyes dangerously cold. "You done, Cromwell? I've got more important things to do than listen to idiots."

Cromwell nervously addresses his congregation, his arms held aloft. "Do you see now, Children of Atom? He calls you fools, you, who have been enlightened! He spits on us, those who have been called to Atom's side! He shall know not of the Division, the rebirth of our wretched and filthy bodies, and the comfort of Atom's Glow! He shall not know the fire of His brilliance! Embrace the truth, my friends, and know Atom, in His glory!" Cromwell's flock cheers and a winning grin splits the man's face. He turns to Gabriel, a smug look on his face and a condescending tone in his voice. "Yea, what shame you bring upon yourself, child of dust and curses. What shame you bring upon this town, our home. What shame you bring upon your family, your mother, your father-"

Gabriel's fist cracks hard against Cromwell's jaw and the Confessor drops in the dirt. Cromwell moans and tries to pick himself up, his congregation silent and wide-eyed in fear.

"Don't you talk about my family, you shitfaced prick." Gabriel's teeth grit as he bears down on Cromwell, his hands clenched into fists and his breathing heavy. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you lousy bastard." Cromwell struggles to rise and Gabriel plants a hard kick in the man's stomach. Cromwell doubles with a painful moan, his eyes filled with tears.

Gabriel sees everything through a veil of red. "Lie to these people if you want," he says angrily, "I don't give a shit. People can believe whatever they want to. That's fine. Hell, that's _American_." He kneels down by Cromwell's quivering form and grabs the man by the scruff of his beard. He forces the Confessor to look at him. "But don't you dare, don't you fuckin' _dare_, think that you can get away with giving me shit all the time. I've had it. I'm done. You or your people cross me again and I'll send you to see your god, postage paid."

Cromwell's eyes are wide with fear. "Please... just-"

Gabriel relinquishes his hold on the Confessor's chin and the man sprawls in the dirt once more. The headache from earlier is back with a vengeance. He stands and looks over Cromwell's flock, a hand resting on his laser pistol. They're a frightened mess. "And in case any of you wondering, that anonymous, generous donation of caps that magically appeared on your doorstep a few days back was from me. If I were you, I'd be smarter about the enemies you pick." He turns to an older, dark-skinned woman, and points. "You're his wife, right? Maya?"

Maya looks at Gabriel dumbly before nodding. She's hardly more than a set of scared eyes set in wrinkles. "Yes... yes I-"

"Get some caps together and take your moron husband to the clinic. My Pip-Boy is picking up all kinds of radiation in his system, and it'll kill him if you don't do anything about it." He glances down at the moaning man at his feet. "He's and idiot for preaching while standing in that irradiated puddle all damn day, and you're an idiot for letting him."

His point made, Gabriel turns and walks toward the Brass Lantern. His headache pounds. He nods at Jenny as he passes the outdoor bar and she regards him with a shrug. Gabriel yanks the door open and revels in the dim lighting. It's so much easier than the bright and heat of outside. The door closes behind him and he hears laughter from over by the bar. A blonde is sitting with her back to him. Gabriel dimly registers her leather vest and ponytail.

_There she is_, Gabriel thinks as he approaches. _There's just the person I needed to see. Cheer me up, Lucy._ His headache is really starting to get to him. Lines are blurry and he can just barely make out his girlfriend.

She's chatting with a dark-haired woman he doesn't recognize. The laughter is both of them, smiles over jokes he can't quite make out. _Make out_, Gabriel thinks wistfully as he places a hand on Lucy's shoulder, _I really need to get laid. You have no idea. I need to get what's coming to me._

The dark-haired woman's eyes shoot up in shock. Gabriel grins and spins Lucy around in her bar stool, his eyes closing as he leans in and kisses her soft, warm mouth.

* * *

Sarah's eyes go wide.

She's a soldier, a trained killer. She's supposed to be prepared for any situation, no matter what. But this... she has no idea how to react to this.

A stranger's mouth is pressed against hers. He's warm and inviting. He tastes coppery, like metal and blood. He-

"Why don't you and I find somewhere better to be," he murmers, "Why don't we-"

Sarah grabs him and throws him.

* * *

_The fuck?_

It's the only thought that can cross his mind as Gabriel finds himself suddenly airborne. He crashes through the Lantern's door and hits the ground hard, dust covering him as he finds himself sprawled in the dirt outside the bar. _The fuck just happened?_ Gabriel tries to pull himself up but the throw has left him winded and weak. He struggles to rise and takes deep, gulping breaths.

Jenny swears loudly and turns to the door, only to find herself face-to-face with a pair of rage-filled green eyes. She watches as a toned blonde and her dark-haired friend stomp by and Jenny can only gawk as she sees the ripper in the blonde's hand. The small, chainsaw-bladed weapon fills the air with a whining motorized sound as the serrated blade spins. The weapon itself has been heavily modified with extra-strong carbide teeth and a heavy-duty chain for cutting through armor and super mutant skin.

Gabriel spots the weapon in the blonde's hand and scrambles to his feet, yanking his combat knife out of his boot. The small blade looks weak compared to the hand-held chainsaw that the woman (definitely not Lucy) has in her grip, but it's better than nothing. He reaches down and un-holsters his pistol with his free hand and points it at the ground. "Not another step," he rasps. Gabriel can barely find his breath. His voice is a pitiful whisper and it's all Gabriel can do to force the words from his throat.

He pieces the woman together with a glance. Tanned, toned figure. Hard green eyes. Her hair is more of a gold than Lucy's and her face is more rounded. The anger in her eyes can't do anything to hide the intelligence he sees in her. She's definitely more attractive than Lucy.

_Just my damn luck, _Gabriel thinks as his grip tightens around his laser pistol. _Making mistakes all goddamn day, and now... hell._

_Now I've got to kill some random hot girl._

* * *

"Not another step," he repeats. He fires a shot into the ground and the laser splits the air around it. "Back off."

Sarah stops cold. It's the man from her dream, the one from the forest. The voice is different, rougher, but there's no mistaking the eyes. They're hard and menacing, but she'd recognize that blue anywhere. There's something wrong with him. He's the man from his dream, but at the same time he's not. There's something... _else_ in him, something she's a little afraid of. He's covered in dirt and his breathing is ragged, but Sarah can't see any fear in him. He's like a dog that's been kicked too hard. There's a feral look in his eyes. Sarah reaches for her own laser pistol, her eyes locked with his.

Dusk appears at her side, her sniper rifle raised and her eyes cold. "Drop it, you little shit. I'll blow your fuckin' head off, swear to god."

The man looks from Sarah to Dusk and back again. "Sorry about that," he rasps, his breathing a little easier. "Thought you were someone else."

Dusk spits on the dusty ground. "Bullshit. Seen your kind before, damn outlanders that try and get away with all kinds of shit. You're nothin' but some sick freak that preys on women. I'd be doing the world a favor if I put you down." Dusk's breathing stills and her finger tightens around the rifle's trigger-

Sarah places a hand on Dusk's rifle and pushes the barrel down. "Enough, Dusk. We don't need to start killing people." Sarah can see the crowd that's forming in the corner of her eyes. She's angry, angry beyond words but she's Brotherhood. She's got more control than most. "Who are you?"

The kid, (he doesn't look a day over twenty), laughs. "Fuck you, who I am."

Sarah's eyes narrow. "Not the smartest response from the girl who just kicked your sorry ass through a door."

The grin on the kid's face vanishes and the laughter is gone. "Whatever. Said I was sorry, I'll leave you be." His tone of voice shows just how angry he is at the thought that a woman has just handed him his ass.

Sarah regards the boy coldly as he holsters his pistol and sheathes his knife. She spots the wrist-computer on his right arm and the pieces fall into place. "You're that kid from the vault, aren't you? Gabriel, right" She thumbs the motor on her ripper and hooks it back into her belt.

Gabriel looks over at her, the fire in his eyes slightly dimmed. "Yeah. Guess you answered your own damn question."

Sarah's glare intensifies. "Simms talked about you like you were a damn saint, but you're just a punk."

Gabriel glares right back. "Yeah, and we just swapped spit." He licks his lips and winks at her, playing badass. "You didn't taste half bad, sweetheart."

Dusk's eyes go wide with anger. "Oh no you didn't, you lousy-"

Sarah leaps forward and smashes a fist against the kid's face.

* * *

Gabriel finds himself on the ground again and this time there are spots in his vision to go with the ass-kicking he's just been dealt.

She's fast, whoever she is. She's faster than anyone he's ever seen. Normally speed is a trade-off for power, but the blonde's fist hit like a gunshot. He can hardly see with how much pain is going through his head.

Gabriel still manages to roll out of the way as the woman's foot comes sailing toward his middle. He's not quite fast enough and her boot-covered toe catches him in the ribs, smashing against bone and soft tissue. He shouts in pain as he rolls with the kick. Gabriel lands hard in the water around the disarmed nuke and the Geiger Counter in his Pip-Boy starts ticking. He scrambles out of the water in time to catch another fist in his stomach. He doubles over, his hands wrapping themselves weakly around her arm. He tries to throw her off but the blonde's elbow smashes against the back of his shoulders and sends him back into the muddy water.

_God...damn...bitch..._

He reaches out and grabs her left leg and she kicks him off. He can hear her footsteps as she walks away, the sound of splashing water and the laughter of the dark-haired friend. Gabriel struggles to stand but only succeeds in floundering in the water and getting mud up his nose. He can feel arms pulling him out of the muck. His head hangs limp. His body bruised and battered. He wants to kill her, but he wants Med-X more.

God, he's getting jaded.

* * *

Sarah watches as Simms and Jenny Stahl pull Gabriel out of the puddle. He's thoroughly soaked and his face is bloodied. She feels sorry for him, the kind of pity one feels when an enemy is brought to a humiliating defeat. Her knuckles hurt, but not too much.

Next to her, Dusk grins. "Damn, Sentinel, you sure showed that shithead. Watching that beating was therapy."

Sarah wipes her mouth on her sleeve. She can still taste Gabriel. "Yeah, felt good. Grab your stuff and let's go. I'm feeling homesick all of the sudden."

Dusk slings her rifle across her back. "Read my damn mind, Sentinel. Citadel ho!"

Sarah walks over to Simms. He's dragging Gabriel over to the clinic, where the town's doctor is already waiting with the door open. "I need my rifle, Simms. We're heading out."

Simms glances at her as he hands Gabriel over to the doctor. "Uh, fine. Sure. You mind if I ask what the hell happened?"

"He kissed me, Sheriff. Without permission."

Simms looks over at Gabriel as he tries to stand. "Hehe, no shit? Poor kid must have thought you were Lucy West. You two look alike, sure enough."

Sarah shrugs. "Sexual harassment is still sexual harassment. I really hope this kid isn't the best Megaton has to offer, Simms."

Gabriel slumps against a wall and glares over at Sarah and Dusk. "I won't... won't forget this, you bitch." His breathing is heavy, his voice ragged.

Sarah laughs and places a hand on her hip. "You're right, kid."

"I think you'll remember this for a long time."

* * *

"Talk of the town is you getting your ass handed to you by a girl."

Gabriel stares at the clinic floor. He's ashamed, not of his actions, but of his weakness. "Go away, Lucy." His headache is killing him worse than the bruises are.

She doesn't budge. "You want to explain what happened? The way Simms tells it, you went and kissed that Brotherhood woman because you thought she was me!"

Gabriel's hands ball into fists. "That's enough, Lucy." His headache is a massive, throbbing pulse. Everything is a red haze.

"I'm not going anywhere until you apolo-"

He stands and slaps her. Hard. She stumbles back against a wall, her eyes wide and her hands covering her face.

Gabriel glares at her, his eyes hard and his breathing heavy. "Get. Out." he growls at her.

She runs past him, silent horror in her eyes. The door to the clinic opens and shuts and Gabriel sits back on his cot and closes his eyes. He kneads his forehead with a tired hand and sighs. There's something dark plaguing his thoughts and it's driving him to quick anger. He's made a mistake, but he doesn't want to do anything about it.

He doesn't care, and he's fine with that.

* * *

"You okay, Sentinel?"

Dusk looks at Sarah as the sun begins its descent westward. They've been walking back for a couple of hours and should be at the Citadel within the next. "You've been quiet."

Sarah glances over her shoulder and in the direction of Megaton. "I'm not sure what it is, Dusk." Her voice is strangely quiet and devoid of certainty. "I feel like something is wrong."

Dusk gives Sarah a worried look. "Just a gut feeling, or something more specific?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. I just feel like I've overlooked something. I feel like I've made a mistake." The wind picks up and tugs at her hair. It sounds like dark laughter.

Sarah shivers and walks back toward the Citadel, clouds of uncertainty creeping up on her.

* * *

**LM here,**

**Yeah, sorry about the wait. Life happens and I can't do s&*t about it. I'm as frustrated as you are, trust me. Writer's Block has now reached the top of my most-wanted list. There's a bounty of 10,00 caps for whoever can bring the bastard in. Dead or alive. Preferably dead.**

**All that aside, I really enjoyed Chapter 6 once it got flowing. The beginning was a brief bit of inspiration brought on by a random encounter I had in-game. Ben just had the misfortune of asking the wrong wanderer for water in my story. Writing the MS parts scared the living hell out of me. Somebody help me get the evil worms to stop gnawing at my brain.**

**The bit with Arkansas was a blast, especially his dialogue. ('Piss-bag sum'bitch' is quiet possibly the best thing I've ever written.) Arkansas was always such an annoying, stubborn old coot, and that stuck with me. Consider this my little tribute to a man who's responsible for killing more than one of my low-level characters. Friggin' sniper and his friggin' landmines.**

**Don't ask me what 'Project Alpha' is. We'll get to it.**

**Man, Gabriel's kind of a douche, huh?**

**I love writing his notes and the whole 'murderous thought process' bits. Getting inside Gabriel's head is like getting inside the head of someone who's slowly going dead inside. He's not a good person.**** He's messed up. Seriously messed up. And a certain somebody out there in that Wasteland is more than happy to see him that way.**

**Well, at least Sarah got to kick his jerk ass. You have no idea how satisfying that was to write.**

**We've got a ways to go yet, but thanks for sticking with us. I hope you enjoyed the read. **

**R&R if you liked it!**

**Levi Matthews**

**P.S. As of this chapter posting I'm looking for beta-readers to edit TGG up to this current chapter and possibly beyond. Any interested parties can PM me, please keep the offers separate from reviews.**


	7. Bound In Blood

Bound In Blood

Part One: Limited Time Offer

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything in the Fallout series. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to the song Vision One by Röyksopp. God Bless Röyksopp.**

* * *

_"And the game begins."_

_He reaches into the pockets of his coat and pulls out a single, flawless cigarette. It lights itself as he brings it to his face. Embers glow, reflected in dark glasses._

_The sun is setting once more. He could stare into it forever. It burns brightly, even as it dies beneath the horizon. It is breathtaking. _

_"The players are on the board. Knight and Bishop. Rook and Queen." A fierce, canine smile splits his face. "And all the little pawns, ready to be used and abused." __He takes a seat on a lone rock and watches the sun. There's a gap in the surrounding cliffs that lets the light in. The effect casts shadows over everything. It suits him._

_The sun. It almost feels like the glowing orb is calling out to him. There is something in it. It reminds him of a time long past._

_"Enough." The memories fade and he closes his eyes. "Now then," he breathes, the wicked grin splitting his face once more. __"Let us see how this turns out."_

_He sits. He waits. There's time enough for that. _

_All the time in the world._

* * *

Ian West wants to scream, but he can't.

"Honey, it's dinnertime!"

Ian keeps silent. At least, his mouth does. His mind on the other hand...

"Ian!" his mom shouts," Ian, you get off the room and come down and eat this instant!"

Ian doesn't budge. It's there. It's inside him. He has no idea where it's coming from, but that doesn't change the situation in the slightest. He's hungry.

Oh god, he's ___hungry__._

He closes his eyes and takes shallow, strained breaths. The sun beats down on his face like it's taunting him. Ian desperately tries to keep his thoughts away. His fingers clench and unclench. He's suddenly very aware of how high up his house is. Living on an old highway overpass doesn't do much to help his fear of heights.

"Ian West, you come down and get your dinner right now!"

Dinner.

___Oh yes__, __t_he Voice screams at him from somewhere beyond Hunger, ___It's dinnertime, Ian. You gotta eat, right? You gotta eat so you can get big and strong. Do as momma says, Ian. Do as momma says. Go on down and get your fill. Just head on down and eat and eat and rip and tear and CONSUME-_

"No!" Ian's voice is strained. He bites his lip, hard. Blood trickles down the side of his jaw. It's coppery. He can feel the cut flesh between his teeth.

"Don't you tell me no, young man!" his mother shrills at him. "You're lucky I don't toss you out on your ass for that! You're so ungrateful, and your sister never gave us this much trouble!"

_ Lucy. ____Why did she leave? _Ian wonders as he struggles against the Hunger. ___Lucy knew, she knew I was like this and she still left. She left me all alone. Nobody else knows. Nobody else understands._

Even in his wretched state, Ian West knows that he's lying to himself. There _is _someone else. The man in the long coat, Vance. Ian had been tending the brahmin a few days back and Vance had just appeared, as if from nowhere. Vance, a lanky man with dirty red hair and intelligent silver eyes, had somehow known exactly what Ian had managed to keep a secret from everyone. Well, everyone except Lucy.

The visit was nothing short of disturbing. Vance had thoroughly scared the living hell out of Ian, who promptly ran back to Arefu, shouting some nonsense about bandits just to get someone to show up. Twenty minutes later Evan King had wandered down to the stable, rifle in hand, to find nothing at all. King had chastised Ian for his lie, while Ian had no way to show King the truth.

He had seen the man. The leader of the Family.

The Family. A group of crazed madmen, (and women), who had recently begun terrorizing Arefu with almost nightly attacks on the settlement. Nothing serious at first, the family seemed content with tossing bottles at buildings and screaming obscenities into the night. They had everyone spooked, of course; raiders just killed people, they didn't harass them first. Everyone wanted to know what the Family had planned, but none of them wanted to think about it. Ian didn't bother himself with worrying about it. He was confident that Evan King, the town's appointed 'sheriff', would gun them down and be done with it. Nothing new in the Wasteland. Nothing to worry about.

But today, today Ian finds himself with a lot of things to worry about.

"Ian," his mother shouts, "This is the last time I'm going to say it! Come down and eat!"

Ian West is a good kid. He's hardworking, quiet, and thoughtful of others. He's never been a burden to his family. He's always gotten along with his sister. He's a good kid.

Ian West is also a cannibal.

He grits his teeth, his young, hard teeth. He wipes the blood from his lip on the back of his hand. It leaves a glaring smear across his skin. His heartbeat pounds like a god's drum. He can feel the blood rushing to his face. His stomach growls with unnatural ferocity. It grips him like a vice. He can't escape it. He's trapped in himself.

"You alive up there, Ian?"

Father.

"I can hear your stomach growling from here, young man! C'mon, there's too much Mirelurk on the table for just me and your mother."

Ian's mouth opens, but it's not him who speaks. It has his voice, but it's not him. It's Hunger, and it's controlling him. He's trapped within. He want's to scream, but It won't let him. All it wants is to-

_ FEED_

"Sure," It tells Ian's parents as it uses Ian's body to climb off the roof. "Let's head inside." It grins and Ian can feel his teeth click together. "I'm famished. Starved." It follows Ian's parents inside. "I could eat anything right now. Anything at all." The door closes.

He falls on them like a starved wolf.

* * *

Vance opens his eyes.

"Holly," he mutters, "Holly, where are you?"

She's at his side in an instant; a gentle face, hazel eyes and silver-blonde hair. "What's wrong, dear?" she asks softly. She kneels down next to him when she sees the tears in his eyes. "Oh no..."

Vance sobs quietly and leans his head against his wife's shoulder. "It's happened again," he breathes, "the Hunger has taken the boy."

Holly suppresses a gasp. "Poor, poor Ian..." she murmurs. She caresses Vance's head softly. "I'm so sorry, my love."

Vance rises suddenly, breaking Holly's grip. "We must move," he says as he wipes the tears from his eyes. "If we are to have any chance of saving the boy then we must move now." He turns to his wife, his silver eyes bright in the low lighting. "I'm going on ahead to create a distraction and find the boy. Get the others ready and follow behind me. We will need to be swift. Time is against us."

Holly nods and watches her husband walk off into the darkness of the underground train station. She's not like him. She's not a leader. She's not a visionary. She can't _feel_ the Hunger like Vance does. She doesn't know what it's like to be him.

She loves him, though. That's all that matters. He's her life, and she's his support. They're for each other.

Holly gathers up the Family and the supplies they are going to need. The small group makes its way out of the station and into the moonlight. Holly wills the butterflies in her stomach away and steels herself for what lies ahead.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

It's been a long night for Knight Captain Gallows.

He prefers it that way. The super mutants don't see as well in the dark. They're slow and sluggish when the sun goes down. Lack of energy, or something. Gallows doesn't much care.

He's silent as he maneuvers through the ruins of a pre-war building. Silence is impossible when you're wearing power armor, but Gallows has found a way to make it reality. His footsteps are measured and padded. Not even the smallest bit of rubble is displaced as he moves.

There. Fire crackling nearby. Signs of life. Nobody crazy enough to light fires in the DC ruins except for the mutants. He's got his next mark. Gallows moves toward the sound, his laser rifle cradled in his grip. A window on the second story is his destination. Gallows drops to a crawl and inches his way forward. Death is slow, but patient.

He'll never admit it aloud, never, but Sarah Lyons is the best thing that's ever happened in his career. The Pride are good people, but they're still people. Colvin and Dusk always bickering, Vargas, Glade and Kodiak always finding some stupid new game to play. Even Sarah had her vice, though its name was Cleric and he is dead.

Gallows... Gallows is beyond that. Gallows is his work. That's his vice. He's too good at killing to ever stop. Sarah enables him, feeds his addiction.

"You've got free reign," she had told him after he had joined the Pride. "Do what you need to do. Give me reports, but I need you to hunt. Whenever you're able, go out and do your thing. I'll cover for you."

"My thing."

Sarah had nodded, and in her eyes Gallows had seen understanding. She knew what he was, what he needed to do. He was death, at her service. Portable and controllable.

But, as with any hound, death must occasionally be let off the leash. And at night, the DC ruins belong to Gallows.

He sees them. Super mutants. He doesn't even bother with his helmet's night-vision anymore. His eyes are different, better. He can see them. He can see the entire camp.

There. Two standard mutant by a flaming barrel, warming themselves. Less than five yards away a brute sits against a pile of rubble and munches on a human arm. There's a fourth and final mutant, about twenty yards away from the rest of the group, gazing into the dark streets. keeping watch. He's farthest from Gallows position. They're all below him.

Gallows sights the distant mutant in the scope of his modified laser rifle and fires a single shot. The weapon's enhanced optics give it the punch that Gallows needs in order to do what he does best.

The beam lances out and strikes the back of the creature's head. The super mutant disintegrates from the neck up and manages a brief spasm before falling into the dirt. Its fellows turn to look. It's all the opportunity Gallows needs.

Gallows straps his rifle to his back and drops from his perch, a straight ten feet,. He lands hard. His power armor displaces most of the impact energy. Gallows uses the rest of that energy to drive himself forward.

The rubble at Gallows' feet is smashed to dust as he runs toward the mutants. He yanks a silenced 12.7mm pistol from its holster. The semi-automatic pistol is big, powerful, and quiet. It's Gallows' favorite gun.

Gallows' first shot is fired in mid-run. The brute's head explodes in a shower of green and red gore. It falls over the remains of its last meal, stinking and dead.

The other two mutants turn, hunting rifles in hand and snarling grimaces on their faces.

Gallows fires again, still running toward his foes. A hunting rifle goes spinning into the darkness. The disarmed mutant looks dumbfounded just before a pair of bloody craters erupt in his chest. It falls onto its back and expires.

The remaining mutant fires on Gallows with its rifle. The shot smacks against Gallows' shoulder plate but does nothing to slow the Brotherhood soldier down. The mutant snarls as it pulls the slide on its weapon back and looks up to aim.

Gallows is gone.

A punch to the gut forces the super mutant to double over. Gallows uses his armor's strength enhancements to lift the massive creature off the ground and slam it down onto its back. The creature flails weakly as it tries to get a grip on Gallows, but the Knight Captain doesn't give it the opportunity.

Strengthened by the augmentations in his armor, Gallows clamps his hands around the super mutant's throat. His fingers find purchase in the softer spots, areas he is all too familiar with. There are pressure points to be utilized, even in an irradiated monstrosity.

Gallows' fingers slowly work their way through the hardened skin and puncture the super mutant's flesh. The creature bucks and heaves, but Gallows keeps his grip tight. It's almost over now.

A jet of bloody vomit erupts from the super mutant's maw and splashes into Gallows' face. Blood drips from the narrowed eye slits of his helmet, but Gallows doesn't flinch. His breathing has become heavy. The super mutants eyes are beginning to bulge horribly from their sockets. Despite the iron hands around the creature's throat, the super mutant manages to groan and hiss. Blood flecks from between its gritted teeth.

"Quiet," the Knight-Captain whispers. His grip hardens and he twists the mutant's head to one side, snapping its neck effortlessly. The creature gurgles once and dies.

Gallows pulls himself up and looks out at the ruins of DC. The sun is going to rise in a few hours. The super mutants and Talon Company will be moving soon, and he has ground to cover before returning to the Citadel. Sarah's been out of sorts the last few days, and he doesn't want to risk upsetting her. Something about her trip to Megaton, and some punk wastelander.

Gallows checks the load on both his weapons before turning and heading back the way he came. He doesn't bother cleaning the blood from his armor. It's a good reminder of what he is.

There's abraxo cleaner back at the Citadel anyway.

* * *

Ian stares at the corpses of his parents. His face is numb, too numb for tears. There's blood deep under his fingernails. It's stained across the front of his shirt. It's pooled around the floor under their bodies.

It killed them both.

It had waited until Ian's family was inside, the door shut to keep sound in, before attacking. Ian can't remember what happened after that. There's spilled blood and teeth where memory should be. Maybe that's the point.

He stares at them, the dead parents. Mere moments ago they had been raucous and ready to eat. Moments ago they had been people Ian had known all his life. They had been strict, yes. They had been assertive and hard working. They had been good people, despite everything the Wasteland had thrown at them.

Now they're dead. They're dead and there's nothing than Ian wants more than to feast on their flesh.

The Hunger, sated by killing, is sluggish. Something is keeping it at bay. Ian doesn't think it's his willpower.

_Do it,_ the Hunger whispers. It's less insistent, less controlling than before. Ian thinks it's used up a lot of its strength. Taking over a body and using it for murder probably wears the Hunger out.

Still, Ian lurches forward, toward the corpses. Somehow he manages to pull back at the last moment. He clutches himself like a victim of fever and cold.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Ian's mind no longer processes time correctly. There is only the need to feed, and the hollow space where his parents died.

The door to the house swings open. A figure stands, silhouetted in the doorway.

"Ian."

Ian moans. The sound is horrible and dry in his throat. He can hear the chatter of distant gunfire.

"Ian, come with me."

Vance wraps his arms around Ian's shoulders. The boy falls into merciful darkness.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

* * *

"Haven't seen that Gabriel kid in a while."

Moriarty looks at Nova from across the bar and gives her an odd look. "Since when do you care about anyone in this town?"

Nova shrugs. "I never said I did."

Moriarty chuckles and straightens his greasy beard with a greasy hand. Business has been slow today, but it's not a bad thing. It'll only be busier tomorrow. Poor bastards who need their booze and poon won't be gone for long. "And yet you bring something so insignificant to the attention of such a cranky old man." He can hear Gob sweeping upstairs. Maybe he'll knock the ghoul around for a few minutes, just for old time's sake.

"Maybe I'm just trying to kill the quiet," Nova says, already weary of the whole conversation.

Moriarty frowns. Nova's concern is more than strange, especially considering that she's had more than enough of Megaton's men. It's that damn kid. He's found a way to get to all the players, big or small.

Colin Moriarty isn't one to promote change. Change is messy and messy can be bad for business. The Gabriel boy has been a pretty big change for such a small town, and all that change is beginning to look like a pretty big annoyance. Sure, the boy saved the town from Burke and his Talon psychos, but he didn't have to spout a bunch of self-assertive bullshit while he was at it. People need to despair and feel bad about themselves. Hopelessness is the key to Moriarty's wealth and power.

"Damn stupid to care," Moriarty says with conviction, "He won't last much longer out here, on account that he's just some stupid punk who thinks he can take on the whole damn world. Wasteland is going to eat him up and spit him out, just like it does with anyone else."

Nova sighs and scratches the back of her head. "Maybe it already has. Haven't seen him around."

Moriarty chuckles and pours himself a shot of whiskey. Not the watered-down stuff he sells to his customers, oh no. This is the good shit. It burns his throat on the way down and warms his belly.

"The miracles of good alcohol," Moriarty says. He looks over at Nova and gives her a wicked smile. "That Gabriel boy got himself tossed into Simms' little in-home prison for smacking that West girl and beating Cromwell half to death. He's not due to be let out for another three days." Nova's eyes drop and Moriarty hides a grin. His abuse of Nova isn't anywhere visible, and Gob's body is so battered that he can get away with hitting the ghoul just about anywhere.

Gob's voice drifts down, scratchy and tired. "Gabriel hit Lucy West? Damn shame, I thought they were getting along pretty well."

Moriarty scowls and glares up at the gantry above him. "You eavesdropping, you little ghoul shit? I've half a bloody mind to come up there and kick some stars into your eyes."

"Sorry boss," Gob says quickly.

"Poor kid," Nova sighs. She pulls a cigarette out of her shirt and slips it between her full lips. "I don't like that he hit that girl, but he's all messed up in his head."

Moriarty glances at his whore. "What kind of bullshit is that? Messed up head?"

Nova shrugs and lights her smoke. "I mean he's not normal. He's smarter than most, for one. Nobody else in this town knew how to put that bomb down, and nobody else in the wasteland has bothered to try. He's also tougher than a lot of people out there. Not many people can say they've gone up against raiders and Talon Company and won."

Moriarty frowns angrily. "There a point to all this exposition, Nova dearest?"

She takes a long drag from her smoke and breathes out. The smoke coils around her, an ashen snake. "The point is that I don't think he thinks like you and me. He does good shit for the wrong reasons, and he feels like he can beat up anybody if he feels like it. Getting his ass beat by that Brotherhood woman hurt his ego, but it's not going to keep him down."

"Nothing can keep that kid down," Gob mutters loudly.

"Shut your mouth!" Moriarty roars.

"Sorry boss." The ghoul shuffles off into another room, out of earshot.

Nova laughs and taps her cigarette into an ashtray. "That kid must be going crazy. Spends his whole life in a vault, forced into rules and never able to do anything. Then he's out here, where the only rules are the ones you make for yourself. His morality is twisted. He's like a dying dog, fighting and biting even though he's got no control."

Moriarty tugs on his beard. "Not like you to be so analytical," he grunts.

Nova smiles sadly. "I _was_ a woman before I became your whore, Moriarty. Might have been a smart one, too. Before..." She doesn't finish. Moriarty already knows. Nova is a jet addict, and a longstanding one.

"God forbid," the Irishman says as he downs the last of his whiskey. "Thank god for booze and chems, otherwise you'd all be insufferable.

"_You'd_ be insufferable if it wasn't for the chems," Nova retorts bitterly.

Moriarty gives her a sickening grin. "And that's why you love me, Nova dearest. I'm your enabler. I'm your savior."

Nova sighs and looks at the floor. Smoke curls around her lips and floats past her ears. "If you're my savior, then this is hell."

Moriarty laughs brightly and pours himself another glass. " Oh, you poor, poor dear." He walks over to Nova and grabs handful of her ass. She looks up, somewhat startled, but she knows where this is going. Moriarty's got that leer in his eyes. Spur of the moment, like always.

His yellow grin disgusts her, but Nova stays quiet as Moriarty pulls her close. "I never said anything otherwise," he breathes. He stinks of foulness and whiskey.

"Now get to work, before I show you just how bad this hell can be." He unzips his fly.

Nova knows better than to say anything. Her life will never be more than this. It's something she's learned to live with.

Dropping to your knees is just like anything else. It gets easier with practice.

* * *

_I won't forget this, you bitch._

The moment replays in his head, over and over. Defeat. Loss. Humiliation.

Beauty looks down on him, a smug smile on her face. He can see himself in her eyes, battered and weak. No fight left.

_You're right, kid. I think you'll remember this for a long time._

Gabriel stares at the wall. He can't get the woman out of his head. She had bested him, in mere moments. She had destroyed him in front of the entire town and shattered his illusions of invincibility. Radiers, Talon Company, Burke, Arkansas. All obstacles, and all overcome with firepower and cold determination. Not her.

Sarah Lyons.

The name rolls around in his head like a grenade in a storm. Volatile. She had beaten him effortlessly. She's faster than he is. She's stronger than he is. The very idea has Gabriel furious and fascinated at the same time.

Gabriel licks his lips. Part of him can still taste her. Warm. Soft. Bittersweet, though he can't quite figure that one out. He shivers and fights off the desire burning in his brain and loins. _Damn girl,_ he thinks. _Get out of my head._

He's had plenty of time to think about Sarah Lyons, being stuck in Lucas Simms' at-home prison cell for the last two and a half days. Gabriel shakes his head as he remembers his current predicament. It's a welcome distraction from the thoughts he's been brooding on.

Simms' house is quiet. It's always quiet. Quiet at night and quiet in the day. It's driving Gabriel insane. No computers (Simms had confiscated his Pip-Boy), no meals except the slop Simms pushes through the bars twice a day and no access to the public restroom. There's a pipe sticking out of the floor that flows into the main line, but it doesn't have a seat. He's been wearing the same clothes for two days straight, and he still has another three days of lockup head.

Nobody but Wadsworth and Moira have bothered to visit him, and Moira's visit had been a "psychological study on the effects of the mind in a prison situation." Her questions had been a fate nearly worse than imprisonment.

Wadsworth's visits have been more welcome, but also painful reminders as to Gabriel's situation. Simms doesn't allow the machine to physically interact with Gabriel, so any information the robot passes on has to be acquired and stored verbally. Simms also won't allow Gabriel access to paper and pencil. No notes, other than what he can remember.

"This is punishment for what you did," Lucas had said, his eyes brimming with anger. "This isn't a hotel and I'm not your damn maid. You'll get what I give you, and that's all."

Gabriel is left with his thoughts and nothing else. At least Wadsworth's news on Alpha Project has been promising. Gabriel had concealed his doubts on the project when starting out, his designs were limited and only in their preliminary stages. However, Wadsworth had reported an 18% success rate within the test simulations, a far higher percentage than Gabriel had expected. In addition, Gabriel's weapons had been repaired, re-fitted, and all modifications had been made to Arkansas. Gabriel's gear is ready when he needs it.

Three more days of doing nothing. It's hell for his brain. He's been keeping his body occupied with a simple exercise routine, 100 sit ups and 50 push ups a day, but that's all he's got. Everything stays the same. The same walls, the same meals, the same bullshit. It's almost as bad as the Vault. Almost.

Most of the time Gabriel's only company comes in the form of Harden Simms, the Sheriff's ten year old son. Harden Simms is also responsible for guarding Gabriel, much to the former Vault dweller's chagrin. The boy is smart, too smart to let Gabriel out of his cage without his father's permission. Harden claims not to like Gabriel being there, but the boy is still curious about Gabriel's wasteland antics. Incessant probing from Moira, or childish questions from Harden, Gabriel can't decide which is making him crazier. Of course, it could be the fact that he's not able to actually _fuckin'_ do anything that's making him go mad.

"Are you crazy?" Harden asks.

_Yes,_ Gabriel thinks. "No," he mutters.

"My dad says you're the one who turned off the bomb," Harden says. The boy has been entertaining himself by bouncing an old rubber ball against the wall for the last twenty minutes. In that twenty minutes, Gabriel's sanity has degraded more and more.

Gabriel has decided that he hates children. "Yeah, I did. It was a lot easier than getting you to leave me the hell alone, believe it or not."

Harden frowns. "He says you killed a lot of people and then did something to the bomb that made it shut off," Harden continues. His eyes stay fixed on the prisoner, even as he continues to bounce the ball. Bounce. Catch. Bounce. Catch. Bounce. Catch-

"Can you knock that the fuck off?" Gabriel spits. His anger is almost overwhelming. There's a headache building between his eyes.

Harden's frown hardens into a glare. "I'm telling my dad you said that."

Gabriel groans and slams his hands against the bars of his prison. He still hasn't figured out how to get free without digging through the floor or cutting steel with his hands. "Kid, I'll tell him myself. I've been stuck in here for two days straight, eating the shit they feed to brahmin and crapping into a rusty tube. As soon as I get out of here-"

"Dad says you're sick in the head," Harden says defiantly.

Gabriel's retort dies in his mouth. "He said what?"

"He says you don't care about anyone anymore. He said you had a good thing going and you threw it away like an idiot." The boy bounces his ball and catches it with a deft hand. "I don't know what he means, but I know you're in trouble, whatever you did." Harden goes back to bouncing his ball, a victorious smile on his face.

Gabriel says nothing and his gaze drops to the floor. The voice in his head is unsympathetic. _You're a spoiled brat who's angry when he gets his toys taken away._ _Simms helped you, saved your damn life, and all you've done is spit in his face for it. He trusted you and you betrayed that trust because you can't control yourself._

"I'm in control," he mutters under-breath. "Everything I do is justified. Everything I do has a reason."

_Even what you did to Cromwell? That didn't seem excessive to you? Actions have consequences, you moron. Life has meaning. You can't just act however you like. You're better than this. You weren't always like this, you know._

"Shit changed," Gabriel tells himself. "I changed."

_Who said you had to stay changed? The only one limiting you is yourself. Just change back. You can be that better person._

Gabriel's hands ball into fists. "Yeah?" He whispers angrily. "Maybe I don't want to."

The voice in his head laughs. _Well, aren't you a selfish jackass?__  
_

He turns as the door to Simms' house open and the Sheriff walks in. The look on the man's face is grim. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his duster.

Harden rushes over to his father and smiles up into the bearded face. "Hey dad! Officer Harden Simms, reporting that the prisoner is still under lock and key!" The boy scowls. "He also said some bad words."

Simms glares at Gabriel momentarily. "That so?" He looks down at Harden and rubs the boy's shaved head. "Go on outside and play, son. Mr. Matthews and I have a few things we need to discuss."

"Aww, but dad! I want to see him get in trouble!"

"Go on, Harden."

Harden grumbles and walks toward the door. Before he leaves he turns to Gabriel and blows a raspberry at the imprisoned man. Gabriel ignores the boy.

Simms takes off his cowboy hat and places it on his kitchen table. The Sheriff is unashamedly bald, save for the bushy sideburns that mark the start of his beard. He takes a seat in a pre-war chair and sighs, not bothering to look at Gabriel. "Confessor Cromwell had a heart attack this morning."

Gabriel's eyes go wide. "He what?"

Simms rubs his eyes. "Doc tried his best, but the man damn near died. Something about a clot in his brain, or somesuch. Stable now, but Doc says that Cromwell might never fully recover. Probably won't walk again, either."

Gabriel shakes his head, bitter anger entering his voice. "He probably had high blood pressure and had himself a friggin' aneurysm. That's just great. Fan-fuckin'-tastic."

Simms looks at Gabriel, his eyes tired. "Cromwell's people are saying you tried to kill him."

Gabriel is on his feet instantly. "Bullshit. That man stood in irradiated water every day for hours on end. He had advanced radiation poisoning and was obviously malnourished. He was killing himself."

"He was sixty six years old, Mr. Matthews." The disheartening quiet of Simms' voice is enough to stop Gabriel's protesting. "You kicked the shit out of his ribs and fractured his jaw. Cromwell had heart palpitations most of his life, and his people never let his radiation get too out of hand. Church is of the opinion that the beating you gave him was what sent him over the edge." Simms stands and places his hat back on his head. "And I'm in agreement."

Gabriel's eyes go wide. "Let me see him, I'll-"

"Enough!" the Sheriff roars. His voice is a bellow that fills the house and silences Gabriel instantly. "I don't want you anywhere near that man. He's suffered enough because of you." Long gone is the smiling, gruff soul that had saved Gabriel's life outside Vault 101. In his place is a man bristling with anger and authority, one who has fought against the wasteland his entire life.

"I've had nothing but trouble from you since you showed your face in this town," Simms spits. "I put up with the nonsense between you and Jericho. I gave you the benefit of the doubt when that business with the bomb happened. But this? This is where I draw the line. You don't get to hit a girl when you're feeling pissy and you sure as hell don't get to beat an old man half to death just because he says something you don't like." Simms' glare is heavy. "If you were anyone else I'd throw you out of town myself."

Gabriel measures his response. The threat of another exile has sobered his attitude somewhat. "So what exactly do you have in store for me?"

Simms sighs and sits back in his chair. Gabriel notes that the keys to his cell are in the Sheriff's hand. "Much as I hate to admit it, this town would be in dire straights without the help you've given us. Most folk aren't happy about what you did, but the important ones, Walter, Moira and a few others, want you around. Fact remains that we need people like you. Problem is, there's a batch of people angry and they want you turned out on your ass for what you did. I don't think I can say no to them."

Gabriel senses that the Sheriff is offering a way out. "But?"

Simms' shoots the vault dweller an angry look. "There's a job that needs doing, and you need to get out of this city for a while. At least long enough for people to cool off. I'd say no more than a week. After that, long as you keep a low profile and don't do anything stupid, I'll let you back in."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "One week. That's all?"

Simms shrugs. "This is the Wasteland, Mr. Matthews. Forgiveness practically doesn't exist out here. But at the same time, people tend to focus on themselves and survival more than anything else. Do this job, let me smooth things over with the town, and in time you'll be welcome here again."

Gabriel scratches his chin. He hasn't shaved since leaving the Vault and a thin layer of dark stubble has spread across his chin and around his mouth. The fresh hair is rough against his skin. "And this is my only option?"

"The only option I'm giving you," Simms says flatly. "And I'm only apt to give it once. You're only getting this because you're useful, and against my better judgement I still like you. This is it. A limited time offer."

Gabriel weighs his options. _I either take the deal and see what's in store, or I say no and lose what little I've got. All the equipment, all the research. Gone._

After a moment of consideration, he nods. "Okay. You've got a deal." He sticks his hand through the cell bars.

Simms gives the offered hand a suspicious look. "No tricks?" he wonders aloud.

"No tricks." Gabriel's tone is flat and without anger.

The Sheriff shakes the younger man's hand. "All right then." He slides the cell key into the door and opens it with a click. "I'm trusting you with this. Don't disappoint me." He opens the cell door.

Gabriel steps out, sighing with relief as he leaves the confines of his cell behind him. "I'll try not to make your life more difficult, Sheriff." He looks down at his clothes, the same clothes he's been wearing since Sarah beat him. "I'll need to get ready before I head out." A thought goes off in Gabriel's head. "So, what exactly is this job you need me to do?"

Simms tells him. Gabriel groans aloud and rubs the space between his eyes with a tired hand.

"Fuck my life," he mutters.

* * *

A few hours later and Gabriel finds himself waiting for Jericho by the main gate. He's fully geared in his combat armor and kevlar vest. His face is clean shaven and he's managed to clean himself up with a bucket of water and a bar of old soap. His feet shuffle impatiently. The afternoon sun beats down without mercy. Jericho is taking longer than he should.

"Why exactly am I waiting for that moron?" he questions aloud. "I've got enough ordinance on me to level a small town."

He's not far off. A belt of grenades is wrapped around his middle, along with his combat knife and laser pistol. A pre-war assault rifle, a trade from Moira that he's restored to excellent condition, is cradled lightly in his arms. Arkansas is strapped across his back, deadly and quiet with its new silencer. A duffel bag at Gabriel's feet is filled with supplies he'll need for the journey ahead; food, water, extra ammo and medical supplies.

Gabriel spots movement in the corner of his eye and turns. Jericho approaches slowly, a lit cigarette pursed between his lips and supply bag slung of his shoulder. He's wearing his old leather armor, and Gabriel can see the collapsible stock of the man's Chinese assault rifle sticking out from behind him. There are also a pair of grenades on the older man's belt, as well as a sawed off shotgun that hangs loosly in a hip holster. As he inspects Jericho's gear, Gabriel can't help but feel somewhat over-prepared.

Jericho notices. "Christ, you bringin' all that with ya? We ain't goin' to war, just doin' a quick check on the place."

Gabriel shrugs and reaches down with one hand to pick up his supplies. The assault rifle sits comfortably in the crook of his arm, loaded and ready. "This is a two day job for you, but I'm gone for longer. I'll need the extra gear."

Jericho shrugs and breathes deep from his cigarette. "Whateva you say, kid. Me? I travel light."

Gabriel glances at the gate. "Thought Simms needed you around. Not enough people to defend the town."

Jericho laughs a little. The sound is raspy and grates on Gabriel's nerves. "Billy Creel's taking my shift for the next couple'a days. Sure, he looks like he can't do shit with that bad eye of his, but Simms thinks he's okay for the job." He shifts his gaze over to Gabriel. "Besides, Sheriff wants this job done without you fuckin' things up, so I'm babysitting."

"Fuck you, old man."

Jericho cackles. "Oh, this is gonna be some sweet shit." Smoke pours from his nostrils as he walks up to the gate and pounds a fist against the metal. "Stock, wake the fuck up! Me and the kid are heading out!"

"I'm awake, quit making that racket!" Stockholm pokes his head over the banister railing and glares down at the two men. "Your momma ever teach you manners?"

Jericho laughs bitterly. "No, but yours sure showed me how good she could throat it!" He humps the air and cackles madly.

"Shut your pilehole, you washed up raider fuck!" Stockholm says, laughing. His gaze shifts to Gabriel and his eyes narrow under his dust-stained goggles. "And lookie' you, Vault boy! Gonna head out into the wastes to find yourself a new gal for smackin' around! Sure there's plenty of fish in the sea for jackasses like yourself!" He whoops and slaps his knee.

Gabriel glares up at the Stockholm and flicks his rifle's safety to 'off'. "Open the door."

Stockholms rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Jesus, you Vault people got no sense of humor." He disappears from sight. A few moments later the scream of an airplane engine sounds and Megaton's gates screech open. "It's open, you chickenshits! Get on outta here!"

Gabriel sighs and looks over his shoulder at his home. He's got Wadsworth to manage his work until he gets back, but the lack of supervision is bothersome. Still, his Pip-Boy is back on his arm where it belongs, and Wadsworth has updated the machine with plenty of notes and status reports for Gabriel to look over. No chance to work on the data himself, but it's better than being stuck in prison.

"Let's head out," Jericho mutters. "We ain't getting there standing around." His cigarette spent, he tosses the smoldering butt onto the ground and kills it with the heel of his boot.

Gabriel slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder. His hands on his rifle, he follows the old raider out into the wasteland.

The wind wails. It beckons them onward.

* * *

Vargas motions for the Pride to move up.

It's him, Colvin, Glade and Kodiak. Not the usual scouting party, but Vargas knows how to play their strengths. When it comes to tactics, Vargas is one of the best. He's almost as good as Sarah. Almost.

They're in the trenches today. The plan is to shred a few super mutant outposts and clear an opening to the Capital building. The Pride has encountered little resistance so far, and what little they've come across has been easily dispatched by Colvin and Kodiak's excellent scouting technique. A slow but steady progression is exactly Vargas' style, and he's using it to the best of his ability.

Being stealthy in power armor isn't easy, (unless the person sneaking happened to be Gallows, creepy bastard), but Vargas manages well enough. The belt-fed minigun he's holding with both hands doesn't make the task any easier, not to mention the large metal ammo pack he's got strapped to his back. He's got a 12.7mm submachine gun holstered to his hip, but he hasn't had to use it yet. He and Glade are on heavy weapon duty, and as such won't use their bigger guns until the situation demands it. Kodiak is leading right now, Colvin close behind. Vargas is center position, and Glade is bringing up the rear with his custom flamer, the 'Burnmaster.'

Kodiak stops and holds up a fist, signalling the Pride to stop. "I've got contact," Kodiak whispers into his helmet mic. "Seven hostiles around the next bend. Permission to engage."

Vargas checks the safety on his minigun. "Permission granted. Col, you and Greg hit him from low. Glade and I will cover.

The scouts move into position, keeping low with one man on either side of the trench wall for cover. Colvin is the first to fire, as usual. The sharp crack of his laser rifle is broken up by the chattering fire coming from Kodiak's advanced marksman carbine. Kodiak and Colvin take out two mutants before the rest realize they're under attack, but soon the sounds of return fire and the snarls of angry mutants fill the air.

Vargas pulls himself up and begins spinning the barrel of his minigun, depressing the trigger enough to get it spooled. He turns the corner and stands between the two scouts, glaring through the dark lenses of his helmet. Gunfire pings off his armor. He pulls the trigger.

"Targets acquired."

Hot death spews out of the minigun. The first super mutant caught in the spray is cut in half from the sheer weight of the gunfire. Vargas lets the barrel breathe for a moment before focusing his fire on a brute with a sledgehammer that's rushing toward him. A concentrated burst turns the mutant's chest into pulpy mess of steaming gore. Next to him, Colvin fires a shot that vaporizes a first-stage mutant as it fumbles with its hunting rifle.

"Grenade in!" Glade shouts from behind them. A glowing plasma grenade bounces into the fray and detonates a moment later. The two remaining mutants are killed instantly, one thrown aside in a heap of gore, the other dissolving into a puddle of radioactive goo before it hits the ground.

Vargas' thumb eases off the minigun's trigger. "Clear, form up." He's all business. "Secure the sight and scrounge whatever you can. We move in five."

Colvin takes position near the trench camp's exit, his rifle held at the ready. Kodiak and Glade rummage around the camp, digging up what ammo and supplies they can.

"My lucky day," Kodiak says happily. In his hands is a medical kit, rife with stimpacks and a few bottles of rad-x. He pulls the supplies from the kit and stashes them in container ports set in his armor. "Wasn't expecting to find anything, really."

Glade yanks an old metal ammo box from under a pile of stinking gore. "You got that right." He opens the green container and pulls out several belts of 5mm ammo. "Hey Commander, here's a free reload." He passes the ammo to Vargas before moving up to join Colvin at point.

Vargas sets his minigun on the ground and begins feeding the ammo into his weapon. "Keep sharp," he says over the radio in his helmet. "Bound to be more where that came from."

An inhuman scream of rage splits the air, as if to underline Vargas' command. The Paladin-Commander looks up and swears colorfully. "Mother fuck."

Barreling toward them, a super sledge raised high over its head, is a mutant overlord. Bigger and meaner than the average super mutant, the overlord is on its way to becoming a full-fledged behemoth. Its skin is thicker and more resilient than the already thick skin of the average mutant, and its stooped posture and muscle-tight form make it the the second strongest abomination encountered in the Wasteland. Uncontrolled rage and superior combat prowess make the overlord a fearsome opponent, even though it's just one monster. The ground beneath the creature is ripped up as it sprints. Its war cry shakes the very air.

True to their training, the Pride open fire without hesitation. The combined firepower from Kodiak and Colvin is enough to hurt it a little, but the overlord doesn't slow down in the slightest. If anything, the pain seems to drive it forward with renewed ambition. There's nothing but hate in its glazed yellow eyes.

It's like he's moving in slow motion. Vargas lifts his minigun off the ground and spools it without a second thought. Bullets fly and impact against the mutant with frightening speed, but Vargas can only slow the creature down. The loose ammo belts flap in the air as the gun shakes with the weight of its fire.

Vargas snarls in bloody anger. He's seen what an overlord can do to a man in power armor. Sometimes, when he's dreaming, can still hear the screams of Initiate Harding. Fresh-faced and eager, the boy had been pulled out of his armor, his limbs ripping off even as his torso was yanked through four inches of plated steel. Ripping. Breaking. The overlord had started eating Harding before he was dead. Vargas had killed them both with a missile launcher, one out of anger and the other out of mercy.

The overlord is nearly upon them when Glade thumbs the trigger of the Burnmaster. A cone of fire erupts from the weapon's barrel and engulfs the mutant instantly. The creature drops to its knees as the combined weight of the Pride's firepower overwhelms its formidable defenses. The super sledge falls from its grip as the overlord slowly but surely begins to die.

As the monster's screams taper off, so too does the firepower the Pride pours into it. Glade is the last to let up. He lets the Burnmaster roast the mutant's corpse a little longer, just to be sure. "Whew," he breathes, relieved. "Almost thought that wouldn't do the trick."

Kodiak slaps a fresh clip into his carbine. "Hate those things. Take too many bullets to kill, you know? Damn."

Colvin sighs and crosses himself. "Let those tortured souls who pass from this earth know peace, and hold hate in their hearts no longer. Let them find mercy at the seat of our Lord. Let Him calm their spirits, so that they may be restored to Providence."

"Enough with the sermon," Vargas barks. His voice is laced with irritation. He's down to about half of his ammo count in the minigun and they're not even halfway to their intended destination. The pack on his back only holds enough for three more reloads.

"Here's the situation," he tells the Pride. "That overlord took way too much punch out of our gear, so we're going to hit the next target and hold ground. We find extra supplies, then we continue to the next target. If nothing turns up then we hike it back to the Citadel and try again in a few days time."

Glade sighs and does a pressure check on the Burnmaster. "Shit's the same each time. We cut a path, can't keep our momentum and then we pull back and do it again. Meanwhile the muties just move in and set up shop while the corpses of their buddies are still fresh. This ain't no way to fight a damn war."

"We keep going," Vargas says as he finishes readying his weapons. "As long as they exist, we'll hit them. And someday we won't need to hit them anymore, because they'll all be dead."

Glade shrugs and hefts the Burnmaster in his hands. "I certainly hope so."

Colvin pops a fresh microfusion cell into his laser rifle. "I have faith in our mission. We do holy work, and the Lord understands. He gives and He takes away, but He walks with us."

Glade shakes his head. "Yeah? Well ask Him if He can take the Burnmaster for a little bit. Been so long since I last used it I forgot how heavy this damn thing is."

Colvin laughs with good humor. "He gives us our burdens to bear, Paladin. You carry that weight well and God will provide for you."

Glade pats Colvin's shoulder plate. "Man, I hope by provide you mean, 'Glade gets a new mini-nuke.' I miss that SOB."

* * *

"Sonofabitch."

Jericho tosses his empty book of matches aside and pats himself down, his hands searching for a replacement. "You have got to be shitting me. All this way and no goddamn matches?"

Gabriel digs into his bag and tosses Jericho an old metal lighter. "Here."

Jericho snatches the metal canister out of the air and nods his appreciation. "Guess you were right to pack all that shit after all."

Gabriel ignores the man. They've been walking for a few hours now, avoiding the pre-war roads in an effort to discourage the chance of raider attacks. Though with all the talking Jericho has been doing, it's a miracle that they haven't been shot at.

"Anyway," the ex-raider continues as he lights his smoke. "It's like I was saying. Raiders always take the high ground. If they don't then they're fuckin' stupid. Their armor is crap and they can't shoot for shit. Caravans learn that real quick." He holds out the lighter to Gabriel, but the younger man shakes his head.

"Keep it, I don't need you harassing me every time you need a light. I've got a spare in the bag."

Jericho shrugs and stuffs the lighter into a pocket. "Whateva' you say." He resumes walking at a steady pace and once again begins to spout raider know-how. "You get the drop on a bunch of raiders and they'll have no idea what to do. They're scared shits when they're the ones getting raided. Hit 'em from high ground, hit 'em from where they can't see you and they're easy pickings."

Gabriel follows, his rifle cradled in his arms. Despite his outward apathy, the younger man silently takes Jericho's words to heart. Strategies form in his mind, ones that use distraction, stealth, and high ground to lethal effect.

"You kill a lot of raiders back in your day?" Gabriel asks.

"Some," Jericho replies. A wracking cough shakes the older man as he wheezes the smoke from his worn lungs. "You don't get to the top of a raider band by being a nice guy. Runnin' with'em as long as I did, I learned how the shitstains fight. Hell, half the reason we did so well was because I made them change things up. Raiders live on ambushes and scaring people. Take that from them, make them the ones getting 'bushed and scared, and they fall apart. It's fact."

Gabriel decides that a change in conversation is in order. "So what do you think we'll find at Arefu?"

Jericho scratches his beard. Dirt puffs around his fingers. "Hard to say. Arefu ain't a big settlement, but it's up high on an old overpass. Raiders would have a tough time taking the place out, even if it was only a couple of guys guarding the place. Only one way in and out. That's how they've managed to stay alive that long."

Gabriel nods. "Easy fire-lanes," he mutters. "You think they've been hit?"

"We'll know when we get there." Jericho trudges on, his boots kicking up dust. "If we see fire, it's raiders or Talon Company. If the place is a ghost town, it's slavers. If the bodies are mauled, it's deathclaws or some other waste beast. If it's occupied..." Jericho trails off and pulls deep from his cigarette. "Super mutants. Fuckin' hate those things."

Gabriel keeps his eyes on the horizon, scanning for potential threats. "And what if they're all okay?"

Jericho laughs bitterly. "Kid, if Arefu was all good they wouldn't go dark. No settlement survives without help from the caravans, and when caravans say a place has gone dark, shit's hit the fan."

The two men continue on in silence. Gabriel glances at his Pip-Boy map. From what Jericho has told him, they're about halfway to their destination. Lucy's parents and younger brother live in Arefu. Jericho is carrying a letter from their daughter with him. Gabriel made a point not to see her before he left. Thinking about her puts a bad taste in his mouth.

_That's called regret, Gabe-my-boy. You feel bad for what you did to that girl, and for what you did to that old man._

Gabriel doesn't say a word. He keeps step with Jericho and eventually the words fade from his thoughts.

Jericho stops suddenly and holds up a hand. "Wait. I got movement." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of binoculars. He scans the horizon with the binoculars and cracks a grin. "Yep, raiders." He crouches low and Gabriel quickly follows suit.

Jericho points at a skeletal wooden building in the distance. "See that place? That's the old bed and breakfast. It's a raider hotspot. Place is full of the bastards."

Gabriel places his rifle on the ground next to him and slowly pulls Arkansas off his back. He uses the weapon's scope to get a better view of the ruins ahead. Sure enough, Gabriel can spot a pair of raiders camping up on the building's second story, along with a trio of raider and their two guard dogs on the ground. "Five in sight, and they've got dogs," he mutters.

Jericho curses. "Always with the fuckin' dogs."

"Can we get around them? I'd rather avoid the hassle all together."

Jericho shakes his head. "No chance. We go around right and we run smack into the ambush they've got over by the ruins of the old car bridge. We go left into those cliffs and we hit Vault 106." The raider shivers. "I ain't goin' near that place." He nods at a nearby rock formation. Gabriel can see a small entrance leading into the rocks, but it doesn't look very hospitable. There's a sense of foreboding coming from the area.

Gabriel brushes it off with a quick shake of his head. "Then we cut our way through them." He looks Jericho in the eyes and catches the older man's gaze. "Think you can sneak up on them from here?"

Jericho snorts in contempt. "Kid, I've been doing this shit since before your pops jacked it into your mom's cooze."

"Charming." Gabriel points at the cliff face nearby. "Here's the deal. You get in as close as you can. Stay hidden. I'll climb the cliffs and get into a better position. The moment you see a raider's head pop, toss in a couple of frag grenades to stir up the nest."

Jericho nods as understanding lights in his eyes. "Then when they come hauling ass after me, you pick them off. Good plan, kid. Guess you're not as useless as I thought."

Gabriel chooses to ignore the older man's banter. "As soon as I'm up on the cliffs, you get in position. I'll keep you covered."

"You'd better, or I'll put my boot up your ass." Jericho checks the safety on his rifle. "All right. Let's tear these bastards apart."

Gabriel straps his weapons across his back in an X shape, with his bag strapped over both. He slowly makes his way to the cliffs, keeping low as he moves. The sense of foreboding from earlier returns as Gabriel nears the rocks. Goosebumps flare on the back of his hands and neck. He tries to will them away. They remain.

He passes the entrance to the cliffs. A strange howl fills the air and the wind tugs at his boots. It swirls dust around him and ruffles his hair. The goosebumps are more pronounced than ever before. It'd be nice if the guy in the sunglasses wasn't staring at him-

Wait.

Gabriel's head snaps around, his eyes wide. Nothing. Not even a whisper on the wind. Just a stone low enough to be a bench and a whirl of dust.

"I saw someone," Gabriel breathes. "He was right there. Right _fuckin' _there."

_Trick of the eyes,_ the voice in his head tells him. _It happens. Shimmering light. Don't you have a job to do, Gabe-my-boy? _

Gabriel blinks rapidly. "God damn. I'm going crazy." He turns back to the cliff wall. Getting a firm grip on the rock ahead of him, he begins to climb.

The wall itself isn't that difficult to traverse. Doing so with a plethora of weaponry and supplies is what's making navigation difficult. He has to compensate for the increased weight and shifting balance. He almost falls on more than one occasion, but Gabriel manages to keep moving upward. After a few harrowing minutes of climbing, Gabriel finds himself at the top of the cliffs. He looks down at the ruins below him and smiles darkly. Setting his rifle and bag off to one side, Gabriel lies one his stomach and rests Arkansas' stock gently against his shoulder.

A quick glance through the scope is all Gabriel needs in order to see that Jericho is in position. _At least he listens, _Gabriel thinks. He shifts his gaze over to one of the two raiders in the building, a filthy brute with a shotgun and a pair of skulls strapped to his belt. "I got yer number," Gabriel says with an old man's drawl. "I got yer number, ya' piss-bag sumbitch." Gabriel holds his breath and pulls the trigger.

Though the rifle is silenced, Arkansas still emits an audible 'crack' that is strangely soothing to hear. The raider's head pops and sends gore flying in all directions. The other raider, a filthy woman with a hunting rifle, sits up in shock. She tries to scream, but Gabriel slices her head from her shoulders with a well placed shot.

"Here's the next course, assholes!" Jericho tosses a pair of grenades into the remaining raiders. Their dogs turn, snarling, just as the explosives detonate.

The result is satisfyingly brutal. Two of the raiders are killed outright and the third drops to one knee, his left arm a ruined mess. One of the dogs manages to escape the explosion, and races toward Jericho with feral anger. Gabriel tracks the target and puts a bullet in its hindquarters. The animal whines in pain just before Jericho finishes it off with a smattering of rounds from his rifle.

Gabriel surveys the slaughter with approval and focuses on the last raider. He fires a shot square between the man's eyes and watches as his head explodes.

Each of the man's limbs follow suit.

They aren't torn off by the force of the shot, they're not even collapsing under the weight of the lifeless body they're attached too. Arms and legs explode outward in chunks of steaming gore that go flying out in all directions. All that's left is a shattered torso, dripping blood and baking in the hot sun.

Gabriel blinks once. Twice. Three times. "The hell?"

Jericho shares his astonishment. "The fuck did you just do?" the older man shouts.

Gabriel stands and looks down at him. "You saw that too?"

"You fuckin' kiddin' me? Course I fuckin' did! You got explosive rounds in that thing?"

Gabriel glances down at Arkansas and looks the rifle over. "No, just hollow points!"

Jericho glances from the exploded corpse and back up to Gabriel. "Never seen no fuckin' hollows do that!"

Still unbelieving, Gabriel looks at the body once more. "You didn't throw another grenade?" he ventures. "He didn't step on a landmine or anything?"

Jericho throws his hands into the air as if to say, 'Does it look like I had anything to do with that?'

Gabriel looks down at his rifle. "Did I do that?" he whispers. His head snaps up at the sound of gunfire.

Jericho, rifle in hand, is swearing up a storm. "C'mon you pussy motherfuckers! I see you there, crawling out of the rubble! Come on and die, you rat pricks!" His shouting is angry, distracting and has the raiders riled up and firing sporadically. Gabriel quietly appreciates the effectiveness of Jericho's style, despite how crude it may be. He now knows exactly where the targets are.

Gabriel crouches and looks through Arkansas' scope. A held breath. A trigger pull. A raider's arm is sliced off at the shoulder.

On the ground, Jericho yanks another grenade off his belt and tosses it into the oncoming mob. There's a lot of them, anywhere between seven and ten, but he's handled numbers like this before, and on his own. The grenade rolls to a stop at the feet of a raider and explodes, killing one in the detonation and another with shrapnel. Jericho laughs madly and fires his rifle into the chest of another raider and she drops to the dirt. It's good to be killing like this again, even if he's only reliving the glory days.

A raider runs toward him, grenade primed and ready to throw, but it explodes at the crack of Gabriel's rifle. Half a corpse goes flying. Jericho uses the opening to gun down two more raiders, puffing on his cigarette all the while. Smoke creates a cloud around his head as he cackles and kills. He fires his rifle one-handed at one raider and draws his shotgun with his free hand. Double barreled buckshot rips into the chest of a woman who had been closing in with a bloodstained cleaver.

"C'mon you fuckers!" Jericho shouts as gunfire screams around him. "You can't fuckin' touch me! Hear that? You can't fuckin' touch me!"

Demoralized and their numbers thinned, Gabriel and Jericho finish off the last few raiders with little effort. The sounds of battle die off, quickly replaced by the cold silence of the Wasteland.

Jericho reloads his weapons and nods as Gabriel climbs down and approaches, sniper rifle in hand.

"Good work," the ex-raider tells him. "Haven't seen shooting that good in a long-ass time. Feels good to be back in the shit, 'specially with someone I can count on."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Thanks. I think."

Jericho cackles and brushes dust from his armor. "Meant it as a compliment, dipshit. You ever need backup, just let me know. People like you get shit done."

"I'll keep it in mind." Gabriel spies movement in the corner of his eye and turns, Arkansas tight in his grip. The source, a gutshot raider reaching weakly for her weapon, gets a bullet in the torso that ends her life.

She explodes a fraction of a second later.

Gore showers the two men, who back away and cover their faces. A smattering of offal sprays over both of them. Jericho swears loudly. Gabriel is too stunned for words.

"What the fuckin' fuck?" Jericho exclaims. "Cut that out!"

"I didn't do anything!"

Jericho makes a face and brushes a bloody eyeball off his shoulder. "Dammit. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you're making a bloody mess. Watch that shit around me, you hear?"

Gabriel rubs the space between his eyes as he tries to comprehend exactly how a single bullet could cause explosive tissue damage. "Enough," he mutters. "Let's just take what we can and keep going."

Jericho shrugs and lights a fresh cigarette. "Yeah yeah, quit bein' so damn melodramatic. Doesn't suit you." He walks over to a nearby corpse, one that's relatively intact, and looks for ammo and spare caps.

Gabriel looks down at the rifle in his hands. "I don't know how I did that," he mutters, "But it's overkill."

Jericho, who has overheard Gabriel's whispering, laughs darkly. "Kid, you and I both know there's no such thing as overkill. Not here, in the wastes."

Gabriel sighs and kneels by a corpse. "You have a point," he admits as he searches the body. "We do what we can, I guess."

Jericho's voice takes one a slightly less gruff tone. "It's all we got, kid. It's always gonna suck. Up to you to make sure it sucks less."

Silence is Gabriel's answer, but he listens.

* * *

"He'll listen to you, Tristan."

Sarah stares the Paladin-Commander down, not an easy feat by any means. Tristan is the highest-ranked Paladin in the Brotherhood, equal to Vargas and only outranked by Sarah and her father. A thirty year veteran, Tristan is the man in charge of nearly all Brotherhood field operations. He's a model soldier, one who thinks with his heart as much as his head.

"It doesn't matter if he'll listen," Tristan tells her, his voice tired and strong at the same time. "The Elder has no more control over the situation than I do. We can't afford to set up any more stations in the Mall area."

Sarah, in her full suit of power armor, frowns. "So what are we supposed to do? Wait for the super mutants to fill the holes before trying to push again? Vargas and the others didn't get more than halfway through the trench network before he had to turn back."

Tristan doesn't budge. The years, though fraught with war and conflict, have been relatively kind to him. His face is just starting to show lines of age, and though his blue-gray hair is balding on top, it doesn't diminish the man's presence in the slightest. His hard brown eyes look directly into Sarah's, and she realizes that he's not going to fold.

"Sarah, we just don't have the manpower." He's one of the few members of the Brotherhood that calls the Sentinel by her name. "I wish we could spare the troops, by we're spread thin enough in the DC ruins as it is." Tristan resumes his slow walk through the A-Ring and Sarah keeps pace with him. "Hell, when was the last time you heard about a scavenge patrol heading out into the Wasteland?"

Sarah's scowl deepens. "We keep out of the wastes because my father doesn't want us bumping into the Outcasts."

Tristan shakes his head. "It's not that simple. The Elder recognizes that the Outcasts are a problem, but we've got bigger issues. We're not sending out any patrols into the wastes because we need to keep our manpower here where we can manage it." The Paladin-Commander sighs and scratches fresh stubble on the side of his face. He wants to shave, badly, but his water ration isn't due for another two days. "We've got outposts at the Washington Monument, GNR, and I just got a secondary outpost outside of Capitol East. That's all the men we can afford to have stationed outside the Citadel." He levels a knowing gaze at the Sentinel. "You and I both know what happened to the last two checkpoints we set up in the trenches."

Sarah winces. She remembers clearly. Four Initiates and two Knights dead. Another three men injured so badly that they were never able to fight again. "We need to do something," Sarah says despite the facts presented to her. "We'll never hit the Capitol building if we can't set up any forward bases."

Tristan's voice begins to take on an bitter tone. "Maybe I'm missing the point, by why exactly are you so hell bent on taking the Capitol building anyway? Let Talon and the muties fight over it." He turns as Knight Artemis approaches with a clipboard containing the latest scouting reports and updates from the active outposts.

"They're obviously fighting over something," Sarah says angrily while Tristan looks over the papers. "There's bound to be tech stashed away in there. What happens if the mutants get access to something like that? What happens if those psychos from Talon Company gets his hands on it?"

Tristan levels a hard gaze at her. "Talk to me when you've got more than hypothetical situations, Sentinel. Otherwise, my hands are tied. If you'll excuse me, I need to go over these field reports." He salutes sharply.

Sarah is angry, but returns the gesture. "We'll speak soon, Paladin Commander."

"I look forward to it," Tristan says with a half smile. He marches down the stairs to the Lab area, Artemis following close behind.

Sarah sighs and makes her way to the Den. The Pride is all accounted for, save for the one she misses most. Sarah quickly pushes thoughts of Nathan Cain from her mind. She has to be focused and ready to lead the ones who are still alive.

They're scattered around the room. Gallows, the only one with his helmet on, is leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed. Vargas sits on an old chair, thumbing through his copy of Guns and Bullets. Dusk, Glade and Kodiak are centered around a small round table, playing Go Fish with a deck of worn cards. Colvin is the only one not wearing his armor, opting instead to work in a simple white shirt and pair of worn jeans. True to his faith and dedication, Colvin is methodically reapplying ink to the verses scrawled across his armor. His hands are steady and his pen patient. Not one word is above his scrutiny.

Vargas notices Sarah and stands quickly. He throws up a hand in salute. "Sentinel." Each member of the Pride follows suit, save for Gallows. Sarah doesn't mind. Gallows has is own ways of showing respect, and Sarah understands that.

"At ease," she tells them. Kodiak, Glade and Dusk go back to their card game, while Colvin resumes the painstaking task he's been doing for over an hour.

"How'd it go?" Vargas asks. He's practically shaking with anticipation.

Sarah's shoulders slump. "No go. I tried to go through Tristan, but he's not buying the idea of an outpost in the trenches. Says we don't have the men."

"We don't," Kodiak says with a sigh. "Pride's got more breathing room than the rest of the Brotherhood. Hell, last time I checked we're the only offensive branch left. Everybody else is stuck doing guard rotations."

Glade glances up at the scout. "Got any jacks?"

Kodiak groans and places three jacks on the table. "Go fuck yourself."

Glade grins like a loon and scoops his newly acquired set into a pile. "And that's how you get things done."

"It's stagnant," Gallows says in agreement. Everyone in the room turns to look at him. "We can do nothing but push, and can do so only when we're able."

Dusk nods and places her cards face-down on the table. "And meanwhile the muties and Talon tear up the place fighting over... over something."

"It worries me," Vargas says quietly. "It worries me that we're not able to keep pace with these monsters and maniacs."

Colvin looks over at Vargas and Sarah. "Keep strong. It is said, 'For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but of power, of love and self-discipline.'" He smiles and Sarah is reminded of just how attractive Colvin is. He isn't often seen outside of his armor. The face beneath the helmet is a gentle one, framed by a blonde buzzcut, a tuft of chin-hair and warm hazel eyes.

"Where's that one from?" Sarah asks him.

Colvin's smile grows bigger "It's 2nd Timothy; 1:7." He looks down at his armor, covered in Bible verses. "That one does not decorate my armor."

Vargas walks over and leans in to get a better look at Colvin's armor. "Why not?"

Colvin's smile falters. "The scripture displayed on this instrument of war reflect its purpose. Solace is spoken. War is seen." He points to a verse just below the left shoulder plate. "Psalm 144:1. 'Blessed the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.'" He points to another that is scrawled across the front of his chest-plate. "This one is a personal favorite. It is the first I wrote upon my shell. I wrote it the day I joined the Pride."

Vargas' eyes have trouble making out the script. "I can't read your handwriting, Colvin."

Sarah cracks a grin. "I think I remember that one." She clears her throat and recites the verse from memory. "'The wicked flee when no man gives chase, but the righteous are as bold as lions.'" She looks at Colvin for confirmation and the Knight Captain smiles.

"Proverbs 28:1. I am surprised you remember."

Sarah manages a small laugh. "It's got a nice ring to it."

Glade's voice cuts from across the room. "Flamethrowers are rad bitchin'. The book of Glade chapter 1, verse 1."

Sarah turns to glare at the heavy weapons specialist, but Colvin's warm laughter stops her short. "You are so predictable," Colvin says as he turns back to his work. "Haven't we already had the talk about blasphemy?"

Glade waves his hand in the air. "Yadda yadda yadda, God gets mad when I talk bad. Deuteronomy forget-the-spot."

"Mark 2:7. 'Why doth this man speak blasphemies? Who can forgive but God only?.'" Colvin says with a grin. "Jesus loves you, Paladin Glade."

"Yes He does," Glade says with a wink at Dusk. "Hey Knight Captain, got any sevens?"

Dusk throws her cards on the table. "For the love of God, Glade."

* * *

"Jesus Christ."

Jericho and Gabriel are just outside the overpass to Arefu. The sun beats down on them, but they have other concerns. The sounds of thousands of buzzing flies fill the air. The area stinks of rotted meat.

"Gunshot wounds," Gabriel says as he inspects one of the dead brahmin. There are four of the creatures in total, all very dead and starting to bloat. Several bloody holes puncture each mutant cow. The spread of the gunfire suggests an overlapping spray from assault rifles, but Gabriel can't be sure without digging the bullets out of the diseased and fly-covered corpses.

Jericho makes a discovery. "Got shell casings over here." He kneels in the dirt and lifts up spent 5.56mm bullet. "Somebody knew what they were doing. Close spread and shit. They came here to kill brahmin, no doubt."

Gabriel moves away from the corpses. "Strange that predators haven't been at them."

Jericho nods and pulls himself up. "Musta' been recent kills. The bigger monsters usually don't come out unless it's dark. Twenty caps says that this place will be crawling with radscorpions when the sun sets."

Gabriel readies his assault rifle. "In that case we should get moving." He walks up the aged pavement of the overpass, Jericho following close behind.

_Why would somebody kill the livestock? _Gabriel wonders.

Jericho's train of thought is similar to Gabriel's. "Raiders and Talon would'a cut steaks out of 'em before they left. Slavers would'a taken 'em with. Nobody's stupid enough to leave food out to rot like this. Doesn't make any sense." The older man looks up the rise as a few buildings come into view. "Doesn't look like the town got hit, but we won't know until we get up there."

Gabriel holds up a hand to block the blazing sunlight. He can make out a hazy figure ahead, standing behind a low wall of sandbags. "Hey there," he calls out. "We-"

The explosion makes his teeth shake. He stumbles back against Jericho, blinking rapidly. There's a dull ringing in his ears.

Jericho snarls and pushes Gabriel behind him. The ex-raider raises his rifle. "You wanna dance, you fucker?"

A fearful voice answers, though Gabriel can barely hear it. "Christ alive, you're not one of them! I nearly blasted you in two!"

Jericho's reply is tinged with outrage. "And I'mma 'bout to cut you in two, unless you tell me who the fuck you are!"

Gabriel moves in front of the older man and pushes the barrel of Jericho's rifle down. His vision is still hazy and his ears are still ringing, but he's able to see that his attacker is nothing more than a scared old man. "We're here from Megaton!" Gabriel shouts, louder than he needs to. It's all he can do to hear his own voice.

The old man looks from Jericho to Gabriel and back again. "They... they sent someone? They sent someone to help us?"

"Hold on just a minute," Jericho growls. "We-"

"Come on!" the old man shouts, waving his hand to beckon them over. "I only had the one mine! Please, hurry!"

Gabriel stumbles forward, a caution hand on his rifle's grip. "What the hell is going on here?" he says, straining to hear himself.

"No idea," Jericho replies. His face is stony and his eyes betray a flicker of apprehension.

"Whatever it is, I don't fuckin' like it."

* * *

**LM here,**

**So yeah. It's almost the end of May. First half of a two-part story arch.**

**Fuck my life.**

**Seriously though, I think I went through 5 rewrites before I found something I was satisfied with. FaW got closed out, Fire Eternal hasn't quite taken off yet, and here I sit with what I believe is the best story I've written, and I can't bring myself to call a chapter done.**

**Until now. **

**The most fun I probably had with this chapter rests with Sarah's segment and the situations involving the Pride. There's something about working with that cast of characters, getting to see how they work and react to one another, that really brings life to the storytelling process. I especially enjoyed bringing Colvin's character into a bit more light. Quoting from the Bible isn't easy, but it makes for some wonderful scenes. (I'm not religious, I just think that faiths in general are fascinating and that Holy texts can make for some great character dialogue and plot devices.)**

**Putting Gabriel in jail was probably the best thing I did for this chapter. He's had to suffer the consequences of his actions, and now he's in a situation where he loses everything if he doesn't put his crap aside. I'm also glad I paired him up with Jericho. What a fun character. **

**I think I could have done the whole 'Gabriel goes to Arefu' thing a little better, but it didn't make any sense for Gabriel to just make amends with Lucy and do her a favor. It didn't taste right. Being blackmailed into the delivery tasted right. This whiskey tastes right. (Stay thirsty, my friends.)**

**As a final note, I included some firearms and weapon additions from Fallout New Vegas into the story. If there was anything in Fallout 3 that I wanted more of, it was guns and lots of variety in those guns. Though we certainly got some memorable firearms (everybody's got that story of how they took out a behemoth with their trusty scoped .44), I felt like the selections could have been broader and more unique. New Vegas capitalized on this idea, allowing players to create a truly custom arsenal that fit their needs, rather than just having to settle for whatever weapon happened to fit the bill like you had to in Fallout 3 (I'm looking at you, Silenced 10mm and Infiltrator). The expansions did what Fallout 3 expansions should have; giving us more guns, different and tactical ammo types, as well as a slew of optional (and awesome), weapon modifications. That was one of the big things that FNV did right, and now that I'm in my new play-through, I'm starting to see even more that they did right.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. I'm finally satisfied with the damn thing.**

**All my best, and review if you liked!**

**Levi Matthews**


	8. The Fall

The Fall

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything with the Fallout universe. All credit for this story goes the the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Angel by Massive Attack. God Bless Massive Attack.**

* * *

_A rare moment of speculation, a__nother cigarette. How many is that? It feels like he has smoked every cigarette that has ever existed._

_Almost time now. So many things left to do, but this is where it starts. That beautiful fall. Like Lucifer cast out by God Himself. The point of no return._

_He wonders, sometimes. It is indulgent, but he does wonder. What was it like, as he fell? Humans have debated the why since before they could write. He doesn't care for it. He wants the who. The what. The reason matters little. The buildup is what is important, as is the event itself. The aftermath, well... He believes that part of the story is still being written. The players may be different, but the ripples of the past continue to shape the future._

_What did he do, poor Lucifer, when he fell? Did he scream? Did he weep? Did he call out, one last plea to the Father that had damned him for all of eternity? He doesn't think that anyone will ever truly know._

_But that is the best part of being indulgent. His mind wanders to that scene, a memory of something he has never laid eyes upon. He sees the angel, cloaked in a light so bright he is all but impossible to look upon. He sees his face, beautiful beyond comprehension. Like a man's face, but something so much more. He dreams that the angel's hair is black. Long and black, that is how he sees him. He simply cannot bring himself to imagine a blonde Lucifer. It is far too clichèd._

_How he must have looked, falling from the heavens! It must have been a glorious sight to see that being, majestic and broken, as he was cast out for the sin of hubris. He admires that. He can only speculate as to what kind of will it must have taken in order to look into the face of God Himself and say, 'No, this is not enough for me. I want more. I want to be more. I want to be You.'_

_Dark laughter. The gall of the idea is delicious. He must have felt the same way, poor Lucifer. Knowing what would happen, but going through with it anyway? How could he not have known? Nothing in existence could forsake God to His face and not receive eternal punishment. No, he had to have known. And yet he went through with it anyway. __Pure pride at stake, nothing else._  


_He believes that Lucifer knew exactly what he was doing, and he believes he understands how it must have felt to be cast down, to languish in the pits of Hell. He knows because he once underwent a similar experience. He, like Lucifer before him, experienced a fall. He had passed beyond the point of no return and changed the course of history._

_He thinks the Devil smiled as he was thrown out of Heaven._

_He did the same when he fell, all those years ago._

* * *

"I didn't eat them."

Meresti Station is a dark place. The ruins of the old metro are rife with rubble and shadow, but it's somehow soothing. There's only one kind of light this far down, and it's man-made. Artificial. There's nothing sinister in it, nothing hiding underneath the skin.

The others have been nothing but nice to him. He doesn't know all of them by name, but Vance treats them all like family. They seem normal enough on the outside, even if they're a bit strange for living underground. The store keep is a grumpy man named Karl, he's got white hair and a piggish face. A young man named Justin was one of the first Ian had met, and they had made a connection almost instantly. Aside from them there's a pretty red haired woman who shakes her hips a lot when she walks, a beautiful woman with dusky silver hair who looks at Vance like he's everything, and a stern younger man who keeps a tight grip on his assault rifle, despite the safety of Meresti.

The Family. They had saved him.

He's in a room toward the back of the settlement. To call it a room may be pushing it. Two of the four walls that establish the space are rubble that has fallen from the ceiling. There's only one door leading out of the room. He's isolated. Secure. Safe. The Hunger no longer gnaws at his belly or whispers in his ear. It's gone, at least for now.

His hands are balled into fists. They're clean now, washed of the blood and death they had dealt. He's sitting on a bed and mattress they've provided for him.

"I didn't eat them," Ian repeats.

Standing over him, Vance nods. "You are a remarkably brave young man, Ian West."

Ian looks up at Vance, tears pooling under his eyes. "I wanted to. I wanted to so damn bad. But I didn't. I didn't eat them. What did you do?"

Vance sits down on the bed next to Ian and places a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I did nothing. It was you, Ian. Despite whatever doubts or reservations you have, _you_ are the one who kept yourself from consuming their flesh. I am proud of you." He gives his charge a reassuring look. "And I think your parents would be proud of you as well. You showed a strength of will that some go their entire lives without experiencing."

"That doesn't bring my parents back," Ian says bitterly. "They're gone and I... I..."

"Shush," Vance says softly. "You did nothing of the sort. The Hunger is responsible for what happened. You had no control."

Ian whimpers and buries his face in his hands. "Oh god. Why did this happen? Why did this happen?" He pulls his hands down his face, a few fingers idly tracing a long white scar on his left cheek.

Vance hugs the young man and holds him tight. "I do not know," he whispers. "But you must stay strong." Ian's sobs wrack against Vance's chest.

"If not for your sake, then for theirs."

* * *

"Hey Sheriff."

Simms glances up from his table at the Brass Lantern. Lucy West is standing there, a nervous smile on her face.

"Miss West," he says with a nod. She stands there awkwardly for a moment before he gestures to a seat across from him. Lucy sits and folds her hands in her lap, her back ramrod straight.

"I take it you're not here to chat about the weather," Simms says dryly.

"No," she replies. "I want to talk to you about Gabriel."

Simms scoops another spoonful of beans into his mouth. "Mr. Matthews and Jericho left this morning, Lucy. Jericho isn't due back for another day, and Mr. Matthews won't be back for a week."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Lucy says. There's a small scowl on her features, and Simms lets his spoon plop back into his bean bowl with a sigh.

His silence allows her to continue. "This whole thing... me, Gabriel, what happened to Cromwell... it's really stupid."

"That we can agree on."

"No," Lucy says evenly. Her scowl is deeper now. "I mean all of this is stupid. From how it started to where it is now."

Simms frowns and places his elbows on the table. "How do you figure?"

Lucy's sigh is exasperating. "Look, I'm mad at Gabriel. Really mad. He's been acting all kinds of dumb and he hit me. That happened. He put Cromwell in the clinic. Maya is probably going to be pushing him around in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. That happened too."

"And he's paying for his mistakes," Simms tells her. "I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem," Lucy says angrily, "Is that you're treating Gabriel Matthews like he's a piece of shit. He's not. He saved all our lives. Twice."

It's Simm's turn to get angry. "And? You're saying he should get off free because he managed to pull our asses out of the fire a couple of times?"

"I'm not saying that either! But you're being beyond harsh with him! Threatening him with exile because he got out of hand a couple of times? Gabriel never tried to rape anyone like Jericho did. And I don't see you tossing Moriarty out his ass when he beats Gob or smacks Nova around."

"That has nothing-"

"Bullshit!" Lucy snaps. "You look out for the people here. That doesn't mean you get to change the rules from person to person!"

"Circumstances-"

"He's a good person!" Lucy is breathing heavy now. A slight flush has crept into her cheeks.

"No he's not," Simms says quietly. "Mr. Matthews is a stone-killer. Remember that story he told about leaving the Vault? He killed five people because they were trying to stop him from leaving. Trained security professionals. He'd never fired a pistol before in his life."

Uncertainty creeps into Lucy's voice. "What does that-"

Simms continues, undeterred. "I was there when he killed those raiders the day he came in. Stockholm and I were in it tough, but we would have pulled it off." Simms glances at his bowl of beans and pushes it out of his sight. "Gabriel... he just went flat and annihilated them. Didn't blink, didn't make a god damned sound. He butchered four people in a heartbeat, all with his pistol. Then he acted like nothing had happened. Like his ungodly skill at killing didn't bother him in the slightest."

Lucy is at a loss for words. Simms looks up at her, his eyes hard. "Moriarty's an ass and he smacks people around from time to time, but he's never put Gob or Nova in the hospital. It's a shit situation, but that Irish bastard's got too much pull in this town for me to do anything about it."

"He-"

Simms holds up a hand and Lucy goes quiet again. "Jericho's an ass on the best of days, but he's a drunk. I don't like it, but he's only ever ornery when he drinks. He'll never admit it, but he's torn up inside about what happened with Jenny. I think Andy and Leo know it too, but they're too mad about it to ever forgive him. Jenny's dealt with it in her own way. I think she even forgave the sonofabitch."

"When I tossed Gabriel in the lockup, I made him take his littlue wrist-computer off. I was on my way to drop it off with Wadsworth, along with the rest of his gear, and out of curiosity I started fiddling with it. There wasn't a password or anything like that for it. I guess he never figured that anyone but him would ever be using the damn thing. Anyway, I did something and a group of notes came on screen. One of them said 'Hit List.'"

Simms takes off his cowboy hat and places it on the table. "It was a list of targets, Miss West. At least a dozen names of people he was ready to kill. Cromwell's name was on that list."

Lucy's eyes are wide. "You mean he was planning it?"

"I mean he was definitely thinking about it at some point. That's not the worst of it. Your name was on that list. My name. Moira's name. Gob, Nova, Moriarty, Jericho, Church. Hell, his own father was on that list, under the words, 'People I'd Like To Kill.'"

The silence is deafening. Lucy can't form a response.

"That's why I made him leave," Simms tells her. "That boy may have saved our asses, but he's been thinking about murdering all of us as sure as Burke was. He sees people as either opportunities or targets. He's indifferent to death. He's not motivated by cruelty, booze or chems. Anger is his only motivation. He does things simply because he _can_, without taking right or wrong into account. That's why he beat Cromwell half to death. That's why he smacked you, Lucy. You're lucky he didn't do worse."

Her face is white with shock, but Simms doesn't let up. "I think Gabriel's convinced himself that the things he does can be justified. His head's fucked up, Lucy. He's on his way to becoming a sociopath. And that kind of person is not what I want hanging around good people like you."

It's a long time before Lucy can answer. "I... I didn't know."

"No way you could have, Miss West."

Simms places his hat back on his head and grabs his beans. "I know you like him, Lucy. Hell, despite what I know, I like him too. When he came out of that coma after that mess with the bomb I saw a side of him that I don't think a lot of people get to see. He was grateful. He was happy to be alive. He was making jokes. There's a good person _in _him, but it's not who he is right now. Doing good is just something he does, without any real reason." He gives Lucy a knowing smile. "And I know you care about him. But don't let how good he might be in the bedroom influence the way you think about him."

Lucy blushes and averts her gaze. "He's sweet sometimes, you know? And that story he told about living in the Vault..."

"It hit you in all the right places, I know." Simms chuckles through a mouthful of beans. "Youth." He swallows. "He's a smart kid and he's done good by most of us. But he's something we're not. His brain works on a different set of rules. You can't change something like that with a few harsh words and some jail time. Hell, I only locked him up so I could figure out what to do with him."

Lucy's frown is back, but only slightly. "So you sent him out there with Jericho? That seemed like a good idea to you?"

"I sent Gabriel out there with a man who used to be a lot like he is now. Maybe Jericho doesn't have the brains Mr. Matthews does, but he was a murderous, crazy bastard back in his day. Now he's getting old, and regret is killing him faster than those smokes ever will. I wanted Mr. Matthews to see what happens when you walk down that path. I told Jericho to try and set him straight. He's fonder of the boy than he'd like to admit."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've got this all figured out."

"Hell, I'm just doing my job," Simms says, the whisper of a smile lighting his face. "I'm hoping Mr. Matthews will learn something about integrity while he's gone."

"And if he doesn't?"

Simms' smile fades. "If he doesn't learn anything, he'll become a problem. A very dangerous, lethal problem."

"And if Gabriel Matthews becomes a problem for this town, I'll gun him down myself."

* * *

"Just take it easy, Mr. King."

Gabriel shields his eyes from the sun with an open hand and gazes out over the horizon. Arefu's location on an old overpass gives an impressive view of the surrounding Wasteland. It's a stunning picture, even if the sun is blazing overhead like an angry god.

The old man standing in front of him and wringing his hands is Evan King, the settlement's self-proclaimed guardian. He's a dirty, wrinkled mess wrapped in dusty clothes and topped off with a brimmed cap. The word 'POLICE' is embroidered across the hat in faded letters. A pair of ammo belts are strapped across his jacket and a rusty assault rifle is tucked under his arm. He's pitiful to look at.

"The Family started harassing us a few weeks back," King says as he wrings his gloved hands. Gabriel can't imagine how hot the man must be under his bulky clothing.

"At first it was just harmless nonsense. They'd harass us at night, break bottles on the ground, that sort of thing. I chased 'em off a few times, sprayed bullets into the air. Never though it would get this bad. Not on my life."

Gabriel looks over at Jericho, who is keeping watch nearby in King's stead. "You were right about it not being raiders."

Jericho snorts and keeps his eyes focused on the slope leading up to the town. His rifle is loaded and ready in his hands. "Sounds like some bullshit Wasteland gang. Back when I was raidin' we'd see 'em from time to time. Usually just morons who think a few guns make them tough shit."

King shakes his head and straightens the bill of his cap. "I thought so too, but the attacks started getting more frequent. I don't dare leave the town to investigate, I'm all these people have."

Gabriel scowls. "The caravans coming by said that you've gone dark. Are you saying that you were too scared and stupid to walk down to the edge of town and let them know what's been going on?" Nearby, Jericho rasps laughter.

King winces. "I... it's not like that. I have no idea what they're after. We don't have anything worth all this trouble. Hell, all we had was our brahmin, and they killed 'em! That's our lifeblood out here, you know?"

Gabriel nods his head. "We saw them on our way here."

King tries to remain composed, but his lower lip is trembling. "I heard the gunfire early last night. Brahmin were braying, and I had to try and save 'em. They were dead by the time I got to them." King shuffles nervously. "It was so dark, I couldn't see anything. I was down there no longer than ten minutes. It was quiet when I got back, but I didn't dare leave my post. I grabbed food and water from my place, yelled for the others to stay inside, and then set up out by the barricade." King's shoulders slump with fatigue. "I haven't moved from there all damn day. My legs ain't what they used to be. Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks," the old man says as he stoops down and sits on the concrete. "Being old is a bitch." King sighs and closes his eyes for a moment.

"I've been protecting this place for twenty years," King says. "Kept the raiders at bay. Kept the slavers at bay. Settlers came and went. Some died. Some left for Megaton or Rivet City, but Arefu never went anywhere. I never went anywhere." He looks up at Gabriel with teary eyes. "I'm just an old man. I don't have anything else. My wife, Ilse, died ten years back. I cared for her as much as I care for this town." He looks down at the ground and sobs. "Is that so damn wrong? Is it wrong to love this place? This hole in the ground?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jericho mutters.

"Quiet," Gabriel says with a glare. He kneels down by King and rests a cautious hand on the man's shoulder. "We're here to help, Evan. What do you need?"

King looks up and into Gabriel's bright blue eyes. "I need to check on the others, see if they're doing okay." He moves to rise, but Gabriel holds him down.

"Rest. You're no good to anyone exhausted like this. I'll take care of it."

The look on King's face is that of pathetic gratitude. "Bless you, young man. Bless you."

Gabriel stands and waves the man's comment off. "I'd rather you didn't." He gives the settlement a glance. There are four buildings in total, each constructed from scrap metal. The nearest two are small one-story buildings next to each other. A small lookout post, more scrap metal, sits over the building closest to the settlement's entrance. Gabriel can see a small ladder leaning against the roof of the building.

"This one yours?" Gabriel asks King.

"No, that's the Ewer's place. Ken and Braliee. Ken can be an ass sometimes, but he's decent folk. Braliee..." King sighs and shakes his head. "She hasn't been the same since she lost her little boy. Kyle, eight years old. Radiation sickness. It was a bad thing."

"Depression?"

"Think so. She snapped. Sees and hears things that aren't there. Damn shame too. She made some of the best mirelurk stew before she went bonkers."

Gabriel points up at the lookout post. "So what's that setup?"

King brushes a bit of dirt off of his shoulder and gives Gabriel a tired smile. "Ken built that for his boy. Happier times. They used to sit up there and look out on the horizon. Kyle was such a good kid. Not many children since Ian grew up and Lucy moved away." King's smile all but vanishes. "Now Ken uses it to get away from Brailee's moods. I take it some days, to keep an eye on things."

King points to the next building. "That there is Karen's place. Karen Schenzy. She lives all alone. I knew her husband. He got stung by a radscorp 'bout a year past. Karen took it well. Bill was a hell of a hunter, kept this place clean of critters. They were good for each other. She keeps to herself mostly. Sweet thing, but she's bitter 'bout all the folk that done left after her husband passed away."

Gabriel nods and gestures to a two story building farther down the overpass. The large structure dwarfs the other homes. "That one?"

"My place," King says, looking back into the dirt. "Put it up years ago, back when me and my wife were young lovebirds. That house has stood as long as Arefu's been a settlement. Place next door, that little shack? That belongs to the Wests. Lucy moved away, but the rest of the family still lives there. Davis, Matilda and their boy Ian."

"I gotta letter for'em," Jericho says as he pulls the folded paper from a pocket. "From their daughter."

"You'll have to deal with that yourself," King tells him. "I'm not leaving this ramp." He hauls himself to his feet and holds his rifle at the ready. "I'd appreciate it if you fellas checked on the others. Make sure they're okay, will ya?"

Jericho looked at Gabriel and shrugged. "Your call, kid. My job is done the minute I hand this letter over to Lucy's folks. I don't like this mess, but just walkin' away don't feel right."

Gabriel glances at the scattering of houses. Such a small, insignificant place. Are the lives here worth his time?

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "What kind of question is that?" he mutters. He nods to King and watches as the man all but sags with relief.

"I'll take these two houses," he says to Jericho. "You check in on the Wests."

"Just knock and say you're with me," King says with confidence. "I'll wait here 'till you boys get back."

Gabriel nods at Jericho and the two men leave King to guard the town.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out!"

Gabriel blinks twice. There's a short, nasally man with frizzy brown hair yelling at him. Ken Ewers. The woman who had unlocked the door for him had sounded like a ditsy moron. Neither options are helping the itch on his trigger finger.

"King sent me," Gabriel says carefully. "Are you okay?"

"Oh that Evan King!" A female voice exclaims. Gabriel notices a woman sitting in a pre-war chair. There's a vacant look on her face, framed by mousy blonde hair and a ludicrous smile. "He's such a dear. I'll have to bake him and Ilse a pie for their anniversary!"

Ken rubs the space between his eyes. "Braliee, keep quiet, for god's sake." He looks up at Gabriel. "Don't mind her, Braliee's in la-la land again."

"Are you okay?" Gabriel repeats. He wants to be away from these people as soon as possible.

"We're fine," Ken answers. His tone is gruff but his eyes are tired. "You're here to deal with The Family, right?"

"Something like that."

"Then go do it," Ken says angrily. "Get the hell out of my house."

Gabriel leaves without a word and goes to check on Karen Schenzy.

* * *

Jericho slams his fist on the West's door. "Hey, open up! I got a letter from Lucy and King sent me to check on yous'."

Silence.

Cautious now, Jericho's hands wrap around his rifle. "I've got a letter from Lucy," he says through the door. There's a funny smell coming from the house. When he doesn't get a response, he kicks the door in.

There's no light inside and it takes Jericho's eyes a moment to adjust. When he's able to see, his rifle drops to his side.

"Fuck me," he mutters.

* * *

"Sure, go. Just like everyone else."

Gabriel shuts Karen's door behind him and walks out into the daylight. He doesn't blame her for being angry, but he does blame her for taking out on anyone within speaking distance. Now _he's_ angry.

He sees Jericho coming out of the West's house. The older man's rifle is being held weakly in one hand while he closes the door with the other.

"Everything okay?" Gabriel asks. Jericho snaps around to face the younger man, his hands tight around his rifle.

"Jesus kid, don't scare me like that."

Gabriel is instantly aware that something is wrong. Jericho isn't the type to get jumpy. "What happened?"

Jericho shakes his head and sighs. "Fuckin', I dunno. It's... shit, just look for yourself."

Gabriel pushes his way past the ex-raider and opens the door to the West home. The smell hits him almost instantly. Meat in its early stages of decomposition. The tinge of blood. He knows someone has died before he even sees the bodies.

There are two of them, one laying on the floor, the other sprawled across a dirty mattress and metal bedframe. Both corpses are dressed in ragged clothing and appear slightly emaciated. There's a smell of blood in the air, but Gabriel doesn't see any blood splatter on the ground around the corpses.

"You still there, Jericho?" he asks without turning around.

"Still here, against my better fuckin' judgement."

"Go tell King that we've got two bodies in here. One male, one female. I'm guessing late thirties to mid-forties. He needs to come in and confirm who these people are."

Jericho doesn't answer, but Gabriel hears the man's footsteps as he leaves.

Kneeling by the corpse on the floor, Gabriel leans in to get a closer look at the dead man. Disgust builds in his stomach, but the scientist wills it away.

The man's face was a mask of torn flesh. Something had clawed at him, something strong enough to leave gouges that go clear to the bone. Gabriel reaches out and tilts the head to get a better look. the right eye is closed, but the left eye has been popped out. He can see it on the floor nearby, gazing at the ceiling with dead horror.

Calmly, though the smell is starting to get to him, Gabriel pulls his combat knife from his belt. Much like he did with Arkansas, Gabriel cuts the corpse's shirt open for a better look.

There aren't any wounds on the torso, but the neck is covered in jagged bite marks that have ripped into the skin. Gabriel can see the white of bone through several of the bite marks.

_Dogs maybe?_ Gabriel wonders. The idea doesn't feel right. There's no blood spray from where a dog might have torn through flesh. A torn throat would have bled profusely, and there's very little blood to be found anywhere.

Frowning, Gabriel moves to the second corpse, the woman sprawled along the bed. Though he refrains from cutting her shirt open, Gabriel notes that the throat wounds from the man have been replicated on the woman. Both her eyes are intact, and both have been closed.

_Nobody gets attacked like this and dies with their eyes shut. Somebody was in here. Did this. Closed their eyes. _A knot of unease forms in Gabriel's stomach. There's more to these killings than he can see just from examining the dead.

Reaching down, Gabriel takes skin samples from both of the corpses. He slots them quickly into analysis ports in his Pip-Boy. The advanced computer will be able to show Gabriel their unique DNA signatures, in order to identify the Wests from their assailants. He opens the man's mouth gingerly and presses a button on his Pip-Boy. A small, metal proboscis extends into the corpse's mouth and takes a simple swab before retreating into its housing. He does the same to the woman's corpse. Not wanting to ignore the details, Gabriel does a quick swab around their neck wounds as well. Saliva might be able to identify the type of animal that attacked them. Gabriel takes a few swabs from the blood spatter as well. It's likely contaminated, but he does it anyway. Never hurts to check all the angles.

Still, the samples are going to take a long time to process. The Pip-Boy, while infinitely useful, has its drawbacks like any other computer. In this case, the drawback is time, time enough to precisely categorize the information Gabriel has just fed into it.

He starts the process with the flick of a switch. Something on the wall catches his eye and he turns. Flies are buzzing around it, but not enough to obscure it completely. Written in blood, like a glaring mockery of the dead, are two words.

_THE FAMILY_

A knock on the door pulls Gabriel's gaze away from the graffiti. "It's Evan King," the older man says through the door. "Your... your friend said that there were... there were bodies."

"Come in, Mr. King. I need to see if you can identify these people."

King opens the door and walks inside. His face crumples with disgust almost instantly. "Oh god..." He holds a hand over his mouth and nose, his composure clearly undone by the smell. "Is that them?" he asks weakly.

_No you idiot. I wanted to show you some other corpses._

"Do you know these two?" Gabriel's patience is at a low. He wants to get this done so he can leave. The throbbing heat and smell of the bodies aren't doing anything to help his mood.

"Davis? Matilda?" King's voice is shaky and it's all the man can do not to sob. "What... what happened to them?"

Gabriel quickly marks the names of the Wests into his notes for identification purposes. It'll help when he has to verify

Gabriel stands and looks King straight in the eyes. "Someone killed them, Mr. King. More than that. Someone savaged them. Their faces are shredded and they've got severe bite marks on their necks."

King paled visibly. "Bite marks on their necks? That's the strangest thing I've ever heard! The Family must have attack dogs or something. Sons of bitches." He looks up at Gabriel, eyes wide. "Did you find Ian? He's their son. Lucy's brother."

Gabriel shakes his head. "These two were the only ones I found. Though judging by this mess, he's probably dead as well."

"Jesus," King moans. "This is... who's going to tell Lucy?"

Gabriel glances at the bodies. He doesn't know these people. Why is he sorry that they're dead?

"We can continue our conversation outside," Gabriel tells King. "We need to figure out what we're going to do."

King nods, looking relieved at the prospect of getting away from the bodies. "Sure. I'll need to gather up the townsfolk anyway. They need to know about this." He glances at the West's remains. "And these two deserve a proper burial."

Gabriel nods and follows King out of the house. His fingers twitch.

The people that killed the Wests are still out there, somewhere in the Wasteland. Maybe it's a sense of duty. Maybe its the disgust that's rolling in his gut. Maybe he just wants something to shoot.

Whatever the case, Gabriel wants to kill everyone responsible.

The Family.

* * *

"And I'll not be held responsible when it blows up in your face!"

The scribe walks away, head hung low. Rothchild resists the urge to scowl. Honestly of all the-

Scribe Rothchild turns and notices Sarah standing behind him. He places a hand over his chest in mock surprise "Oh. Goodness, my dear. You startled me."

A hesitant smile curls the corners of Sarah's mouth. "And in full power armor, no less. You're losing your edge, Rothchild."

Rothchild sighs with good humor and runs a hand along what little hair remains on his head. The strands of white ruffle at his touch. "My dear, I don't think I'll ever be able to catch you sneaking up on me. I remember when you were just a little thing," he lowers a hand down to his knee for emphasis, "and how you'd jump from the shadows and cling to my legs when I wasn't looking. Some of those scares took years off my life!"

Sarah's smile grows at the Head Scribe's exaggeration. Rothchild isn't easy to get along with if you're anyone else, but Rothchild has been a part of her life since her birth.

"I apologize if I brought up any unpleasant memories," she says wryly. "But I was hoping we could talk for a moment, if you're not too busy."

Rothchild sighs and glances up at the machine towering above the entirety of the lab space. "You've caught me at a good moment," he admits. "Right now I'm just sick of looking at the damn thing."

Sarah nods in agreement. They're standing next to Liberty Prime, the Brotherhood's greatest weapon. Or, it would be, if the robotic titan was in any working order.

"I've been struggling with Prime for over twenty years," Rothchild says bitterly. "In that time we've made little to no progress in getting him operational." The Head Scribe throws his hands into the air. "Every test we run, every improvement we make, it only seems to get us one step further. And for every step we take, some problem will set us back another ten."

"You never were a fan of negative numbers," Sarah says quietly.

"Indeed. They're rather depressing to think about. Less than nothing? That's not a fate I would wish on anything." His eyes are full of age and very, very tired. "But enough of my tirades. You came to me for something. What was it that you needed?"

"I need to know if you've found anything in the archives about tech in the Capitol building," Sarah says, trying her best not to sound desperate.

Rothchild raises an eyebrow. "Information in the archives? And you didn't speak with Elizabeth?"

"Scribe Jameson," Sarah says curtly, "Informed me that she couldn't be bothered with the matter, due to pressing issues elsewhere."

"Arlington Library?"

"Arlington Library," Sarah sighs.

"She's always been on about that place," Rothchild admitted. "She was always certain we could gain more knowledge from that place than digging through the terminals of the Citadel."

"That's idiotic. Arlington was a _public_ library, for God's sake. They're not going to have schematics on how to build a plasma rifle."

"No," Rothchild agrees, "But life isn't always about plasma rifles and secret giant military robots. Sometimes a cookbook or a farmer's almanac can hold a treasure trove of information. Remember when Paladin Edwards stumbled across that mechanic's reference guide back when we were first clearing out the area around the Washington Monument?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Rothchild shakes his head at Sarah's dismissal. "The diagrams we found in there completely changed the way we looked at the T-45. Using the information in that random book, Bowditch and I were able to rework the power systems in every suit of armor we had. We were able to re-tune the armor to a rate of fuel consumption that was closer to the early models of the T-51. We suddenly had more fuel reserves available to us than we had ever dreamed of."

Sarah glances down at her armor. She remembers that upgrade, though it seems like a lifetime ago. Prior to the upgrade, the T-45 had to be recharged at least once a month. With the upgrade installed, it's only every few years that Sarah has to send her armor over to the Scribes for refueling.

"That doesn't mean she gets to blow me off," Sarah says, slightly irritated. It's never easy arguing with Rothchild's logic. "Tristan won't let me set up command posts in the Mall trenches without a good reason. I need to be able to get the Pride in there. The mutants and Talon are tearing the place apart over... I don't know. But Talon don't throw themselves at something without at least _thinking _that there's something valuable to gain from it."

"Indeed." Rothchild's tone grows troubled. "Even if they are simply trying to establish a foothold in the Mall, that alone would give us reason to want them gone." He nods at Sarah, determination flashing in his hazel eyes. "I can't give you what you need to make the push," he says quietly, "but I can give you something that may help find it."

He moves to walk past her and presses a keycard into her open hand. "This is the key to my personal terminal," he whispers. "It's routed into the archive network. I'll make sure to be absent from my quarters for a few hours tomorrow morning. Your father would have a fit if he thought I was bypassing protocol like this, so I'll thank you to keep this quiet."

Sarah nods and cups the keycard in her hand, hiding it from view. "Thank you, Rothchild."

Reginald Rothchild shakes his head in mock sadness. "You are welcome, my dear. I'm sorry I wasn't able to assist you more, protocol is protocol and all that." He smiles wryly at her. "However, I wish you luck in your endeavors. The Pride is still the fighting arm of this Brotherhood, and I will do what I can to see it succeed." With that said, Rothchild busies himself by approaching a nearby Scribe and all but demanding a status report.

Sarah walks up the gantry and out of the lab, Rothchild's keycard tight in her grip. She can feel a triumphant smile ready to spread across her face, but she keeps it at bay. She's supposed to be stoic, and a grin doesn't help with that act.

Still, Sarah feels waves of gratitude wash over her. It's good to know she can still count on Rothchild.

"Now we're getting somewhere," she whispers.

* * *

Gabriel has gotten nowhere.

It's been a few hours since the Wests were buried. Evan King had done the digging himself, along with Jericho and Gabriel's help. The old man had been insistent about the graves, saying that people needed reminders of those who had passed.

Gabriel would have just burned the bodies. Made more sense. Jericho did burn the corpses of the brahmin with an old flamer King had produced. The intense flames had reduced the bloated animals to bones. The last thing Arefu needs is Wasteland predators sniffing around an already frightened town.

In any case, the funeral had been brief, in the interests of the failing daylight. Gabriel had sent the residents of Arefu back to their homes. Evan King is guarding them. Jericho is on his way back to Megaton with the news. Hopefully he'll return to Arefu with some much needed backup.

On his own, Gabriel is investigating locations The Family might be hiding in.

The first, Moonbeam Outdoor Cinema, had been a dud. No signs of life, just old picnic tables and the scattered belongings of long dead families.

The second, Hamilton's Hideaway, is Gabriel's current location. He has no idea who Hamilton is, or why said person would build a small, in-cave bunker along the remains of a dried up reservoir, but it's not the most pressing issue on his mind.

"What the fuck does it take to kill you?" Gabriel shouts at the radscorpion. He unloads another three round burst from his assault rifle into the mutated arachnid, but the creature doesn't seem fazed by it.

The size of a large dog, the radscorpion skitters toward him. Its beady black eyes shine under the glow of his Pip-Boy light. Its large claws are open and ready to disembowel the human annoyance. Its stinger is raised and ready to deliver a powerful and paralyzing toxin into Gabriel's bloodstream.

Gabriel snarls and fires again, this time aiming for its eyes. Several of the orbs pop under the gunfire, but many more remain untouched. The radscorpion pauses for a moment as it moves its pincers to protect its face. Gabriel is honestly surprised by its simple yet adaptable intelligence.

Gabriel shifts his focus and fires on the only remaining target, the radscorpion's stinger.

Success comes in the form of a hissing sound that Gabriel assumes is the arachnid's reaction to pain. It makes sense, really. The tail needs to remain flexible and quick in order to sting effectively, so there's less armor around the extremity. Gabriel takes advantage of this and unloads the rest of his clip into the radscorpion's tail. Gunfire slices the appendage in half. The creature dies moments later, unable to cope with the pain and the blood loss.

"Damn, didn't expect these things to be so hard to kill." Gabriel reloads his assault rifle and slowly makes his way into the tunnel network. He loots a few bodies of their drugs and bobby pins along the way.

_Probably not The Family. These people look like wasteland druggies trying to find shelter. _

His thoughts are interrupted as a pair of radscorpions rush toward him, attracted by the light from his Pip-Boy.

_I bet Jericho is having an easier time on his end, _Gabriel thinks as he opens fire. He suddenly remembers that the ex-raider is likely explaining to Lucy that her parents are dead and her brother is missing.

"Then again," he mutters as he unhooks a grenade from his belt and tosses the explosive at the incoming arachnids.

"Maybe I should be thankful I'm not the one telling her."

* * *

Jericho is in a bad mood.

The business at Arefu is more than enough to sour his day, but this? This shit is not what he signed up for when he took the job from Simms.

"Fuckin' Simms," Jericho mutters. "Sure, he can send me and the kid out into the wastes to get our asses shot at. But can he give us a hand when the shit hits the fan? No. God for-fuckin'-bid something goes right for once."

Simms' argument had made sense, but it's still bullshit. "I wish we could," the bearded asshole had said, "But we don't have the people to defend this place and guard Arefu. I'm sorry."

Though Simms' unwillingness to send support is a pain in the ass, there's another reason for Jericho's mood. He's on his way over to Lucy's place, to tell the girl that her parents are buried in shallow graves and her brother is missing. It's not something he can be proud of, or something he's looking forward to.

He reaches the small home and raises a fist to knock on the door. It opens before he gets the chance.

Lucy West, pretty and wide-eyed, looks at Jericho through the crack in the door. "Oh, Jericho. It's you."

"Hey Lucy," he mutters. He doesn't like the tone in her voice. It's like she's been expecting someone else, someone that frightens her.

"You got back quick," she says, the ghost of a smile on her lips. It's all for appearances, of course. Jericho can see the worry in her eyes.

"Yeah... can I come in?" he asks. His feet are starting to ache.

"Yeah, yeah sure." She opens the door and he walks inside. She closes the door behind him and gestures to an old padded chair. "Go ahead and sit. I was just getting ready to eat."

Jericho nods and eases himself into the wingback chair. Lucy busies herself in the kitchen. He can see her getting an extra plate from a cupboard. The smell of mirelurk cakes wafts in the air. Jericho's stomach growls as he realizes just how hungry the trip has made him.

Lucy joins him in the living room. She hands Jericho his plate of cakes and takes a seat across from him in a matching chair. Jericho begins eating without prompt. Anything to break the silence.

Lucy cuts into her mirelurk with the side of her fork. "So-"

Jericho, his mouth half full of food, cuts her off. He tells her everything. He doesn't spare the details.

She wails for a little while, her sobs echoing off the metal walls.

_Poor thing,_ he thinks as he eats. _Nice girl like her shouldn't have to deal with this fuckin' mess._

After he's done, Jericho leads her to the couch. She cries again, harder this time, and leans her head on his shoulder.

Against his better judgement, Jericho stays with her the entire time.

* * *

"So they've been under siege the entire time?"

Gabriel nods at Doc Hoff. He's back at the settlement after an unsuccessful search through Hamilton's Hideaway. With daylight fading fast, Gabriel returned to Arefu to check on King and the others. He had bumped into Doc Hoff along the way and convinced the food and drug salesman to travel with him back to the settlement.

Now he's trying to get the shifty bastard to give the people of Arefu a helping hand.

"These people have been through the ringer, Hoff. They've got a few supplies, but they're running low on essentials. Food, clean water, things like that."

Hoff, a smug, bearded man wearing a grey suit and glasses, nods sagely. "It's a difficult situation, I can see that. Thankfully, my purpose in this world is to nourish the hungry and heal the sick. Provided, of course, that you have some means of compensation..."

Gabriel wants nothing more than to put a few bullets into the greedy bastard's face and just take the supplies, but that'll just cause more problems than it's worth. "Just shut the fuck and help these people," he spits. Gabriel tosses a bundle of caps the merchant's way. "Make sure they get the meds they need too."

Hoff shuffles through the caps and then motions to his bodyguard. The woman leads Hoff's pack brahmin up the ramp and into the settlement. "They're in good hands, Mr. Matthews. The Good Doctor always has something of aid in his magic bag." With his useless platitudes finished, Hoff follows his brahmin up the ramp.

"God damn waste of time," the young wanderer mutters. A cramp in his stomach reminds Gabriel that he's in desperate need of a bathroom break.

After relieving himself behind a nearby boulder, Gabriel cleans himself off with a roll of centuries old toilet paper and washes his hands with an equally aged sanitation cloth. He cracks his neck from side to side. "Sore all over," he says quietly. His hands ache from all the shooting he's been doing. The muscles in his arms are tight and tense. His legs are barely holding up. It's been hours since he's had a rest.

Gabriel sits on a nearby rock, Arkansas cradled in his grip. "I'd be safer if I went up to the settlement," Gabriel says aloud, trying to prompt himself into moving. His body doesn't budge. He doesn't want do deal with the people.

With a sigh, Gabriel rests his sniper rifle across his knees and looks at his Pip-Boy. A few button presses and his notes are open for viewing.

"Reflex increase by 0.00027 percent," he mutters as he scans the small text. "Damn near insignificant. Need a higher number than that. Bone density increased by... no that's no good. Has to be more. Muscle density too, for that matter. Need to be stronger. Tougher. Faster." Gabriel scratches his chin. Dark stubble has already started to sprout. His recent laxness with shaving has prompted the hairs to re-grow at a faster rate.

"Don't need to worry about cellular regeneration, at least the mutation is good for something." Gabriel hasn't tested the strength of his mutation under heavy stress and injury, nor does he feel inclined to try. Small things, cuts and small caliber bullet wounds, are treated easily with small doses of radioactive water. The amount of radiation that produced the mutation had to have been extreme, if not nearly lethal. Whatever the case, it had put him in a coma for five days. From what Church and Moira had told him, it had healed deep cuts and repaired broken bones.

"Probably takes a lot of rads to heal severe injuries." Gabriel scrolls down the list of notes, thankful that Wadsworth's computer brain has organized everything perfectly. "Not bad for preliminary tests, but I've only just scratched the surface. Light-adjustment is good, for now. Haven't dealt with anybody using flash-grenades." He squints into the dying sunlight. "Note to self, get some friggin' sunglasses."

Footsteps bring Gabriel out of his analysis. There's a pair of figures walking toward him. With the setting sun behind them, the figures are little more than hazy silhouettes in the dying light.

"That you, shitstain?"

Gabriel waves. "It's me, Jericho."

The ex-radier and his companion close in. Gabriel stands and is about to speak when he recognizes the second person. His brow furrows and his fists clench.

"Jericho," he snaps as he glares at Lucy West.

"What in all fuck were you thinking?"

* * *

"Holly, can you explain to us what the hell Vance was thinking?"

Holly stares Karl down. It's not hard. The storekeep can act tough all he wants, but he knows who's in charge at the end of the day.

"He was thinking," she says slowly, aware of the others listening, "that there was a young man in danger of becoming what we all were at some point. He saved that young man like he saved all of us. That's what my husband did last night."

Karl mutters something rude and walks away. Holly's glad for it. She's never liked the man, always in a bad mood and more prone to... incidents of consumption than the others. If he hadn't shared in their mutual condition, or been nearly as good at scavenging as he is, Holly would have pressed Vance to force the man to leave Meresti.

She notes the others looking over at her. She meets their stares and they find better ways to occupy their time. She allows herself a smile. There are a few perks associate with being the boss' wife.

Vance.

She can still remember that first time they had met. The-

* * *

_-sun had been warm and welcoming. A light breeze had cradled the air. Cantabury Commons was as good a place as any to live. Peaceful, prosperous, secure. Holly's family had lived there since her birth, both farmers with good standing in the small community._

_And, on the outskirts of town, Holly had torn out a man's throat with her teeth._

_In the process of opening his rib cage and eating the steaming innards within, a younger Holly had looked up. Her hair had been shorter then, almost a bob cut. Such a pretty thing, people would say of her. Supple, toned figure. Pale skin. Fine, silvery hair. Eyes like a pool of clean water. A catch for any young man._

_Her face and neck were covered with warm blood. She was the very definition of horrifying._

_But when she looked up, Holly saw something she would never have expected._

_The young man was wrapped in a long green duster that whipped around his legs. His red hair was mussy in a way that was somehow attractive. There was a broad smile on his face, one that reached all the way to the glowing silver orbs that were his eyes._

_She had stared, ready to spring at him, tear his face off. None could know her secret. No one would ever understand. The Hunger was too much._

_He broke the tension. She expected him to shout out in fear or run, but that wasn't the case._

_"You're pretty," he told her. His smile never left his face, even as blood dribbled from Holly's chin._

_"What?"_

_His smile grew bigger, if that was possible. "You're really pretty. Beautiful."_

_Holly had no idea what to say. Whatever she had prepared for, this was not it._

_"I'm Vance," he told her. He walked over and knelt by the corpse she was hunched over. She could only stare, eyes wide._

_"What's your name?" he asked softly. His voice was comforting, understanding. He looked into her eyes as if he could see her soul in them._

_Holly blinked. "I'm Holly. Holly Perkins."_

_He took her bloody hands in his and rose from his crouch, lifting her up. Holly was speechless. Breathless. Vance was holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world._

_They stood there, standing over blood and stinking gore. Holly found herself licking her lips, a nervous gesture that she had inherited from her mother. She could taste the blood on them. Warm. Coppery._

_She wondered how Vance tasted._

_It was as if he could read her mind. His smile grew even bigger "You and me," he said, drawing her close._

_"We're the same."_

_Then, and without any hesitation, she pressed her bloody lips against his._

* * *

Holly holds the memory a moment longer before letting it drift away. It's her favorite. She had fallen in love and found purpose on the same day. She had left her parents behind, her home behind, to be with him. They had been young, hungry, and in love. It had been the best of times, with nothing holding them back but their own will.

Holly shakes her head and brings herself back to the present. She's got a Family to look after while her husband helps the boy through his trials.

They've been through so much, Holly and Vance. So many memories, so many moments of happiness and hardship.

Vance is her reason for living. She'll always follow him, even into the depths of hell.

* * *

Lucy looks down at her parent's graves. She's been standing there for almost twenty minutes, totally silent, her head downcast.

Gabriel, angry and not wanting to be anywhere near the girl, had dragged himself up and into the settlement proper. Jericho was left watching Lucy's back. He's been quiet and respectful, giving Lucy both time and space. But the sun is just a silver on the horizon now, and Jericho knows better than to linger in the wastes after dark.

"Lucy," he says, taking a step toward her. "C'mon kid. We gotta go."

Lucy remains silent but she turns away from the graves. There's a shuffle to her step, as if she's having trouble walking. Jericho quickly walks over to the young woman and places a hand on her shoulder. "We gotta get to the others before it gets too dark," he tells her. He avoids comforting words on purpose. He doesn't know what she's going through.

With a gentle hand, the ex-raider leads Lucy up the hill and into Arefu. The residents and Doc Hoff are sitting around a burning barrel, warming themselves. Conversations are spoken in whispers. Everyone looks tense.

Upon noticing Lucy, Evan King stands and takes off his hat. "Lucy... my dear I am so sorry, you have no-"

"That's enough," Jericho says. "Leave her alone, old man. She don't need any of this right now."

"Yeah," King says quietly. He wrings his hat in his hands before taking his seat by the fire. The others look on in silence as Lucy sits on the hard ground and hugs her knees to her chest.

Jericho looks around the camp. "The fuck is that kid at?"

King thumbs over his shoulder, to the West's house. "He stayed around for a bit, making sure we were okay. Then that little wrist computer of his made a funny noise and he left. Strange look in that boy's eyes. Like he'd seen something he couldn't believe."

Jericho leaves without a word and walked over to the small shack, his rifle strapped across his back. It's almost impossible to see anything this far away from the fire. "You in there?" He approaches the door to the West's place slowly, as if expecting more trouble.

"Over here," a voice calls out from Jericho's right. The older man's head snaps around. The kid is out of sight, somewhere around the side of the building.

Jericho makes his way around and sees Gabriel. He's leaning against the side of the metal shelter, his custom sniper rifle propped up next to him.

"It's out there," the kid says. He gazes into the black, seeing something that Jericho can't.

"What is?" the ex raider asks nervously. There's something... really fucked about the look in Gabriel's eyes.

The kid points out into the darkness. "Northwest Seneca Station. That's where I'm headed. Tomorrow, first light. It's the only place left I haven't looked."

"You're serious about this shit, aren't you?"

Gabriel shrugs. "As serious as I can be, given what's happened." He spares a glance at the fire where everyone else has gathered. "I get why you brought Lucy here. It was a dumb fuckin' idea, but I get it. Closure. Part of the psychological process." He looks at Jericho and flashes a knowing smile. "You're not as much of a tough guy as you'd like to believe."

Jericho doesn't know what to say to that. A silence hangs between the two men, one that Gabriel breaks after a moment of contemplation.

"Tell me," he says smoothly, "Do you think that her brother is still alive?"

"Prob'ly not," Jericho answers. "Seems that people who the shit that got done to the his folks ain't the sort take people alive."

Gabriel turns a dial on his Pip-Boy and the immediate area is bathed in a sickly green light. The ex-raider has to hold up a hand in front of his face in order to adjust. Gabriel doesn't even blink.

"I did some tests after you got back," he says quietly. "Took samples from the home, the blood spatter and all that good stuff. Ran DNA checks, matched chromosomes..." he trails off when he sees the confused look on Jericho's face. "The science isn't important."

"Whateva' you say," Jericho mutters. He reaches into his armor and pulls out a pack of smokes. Gabriel waves the ex-raider off when the man offers him one.

"I know who killed the Wests."

Jericho, who's in the process of lighting his smoke, stops dead. "Wait... what?"

"I didn't like what King told us about how it happened. It didn't add up. So I did a little investigating." Gabriel flicks off the Pip-Boy light and gives Jericho a hard look. "This stays quiet. Between you and me, nobody else. Got that?"

Jericho nods.

"A lot of the DNA samples I was able to collect were useless. Contaminated. Most of the blood had congealed and bacteria had gotten to almost all of it. But I was able to get three good samples. Davis, Matilda, and one other."

"Quit dragging this shit out," Jericho spits. "If you know who did the Wests in, then just fuckin' say-"

"It was their son, Jericho. Ian West."

The ex-raider's mouth hangs open. "That's... that's..."

"The Wests had been dead for over a day before we found them," Gabriel says quietly. "That time-span doesn't match the distraction that King fell for last night. No, they were dead long before the Family showed up."

Gabriel shifts his gaze to the black horizon once more. "The DNA I took from the Wests showed me who was who. I got clear samples from both of them. The third was more difficult, but I was able to identify it because it shared base pairs from both the mother and the father. That only happens in offspring, Jericho. Ian killed them both. Yesterday evening, if I'm not mistaken. Before nightfall."

Jericho's cigarette goes unnoticed between his fingertips. "Then... what the fuck was The Family doing here?"

Gabriel shrugs, indifferent. "Might have been that they were trying to break the kid out without the other residents knowing. He might have made a deal with them, to join their little gang. Killing your folks is one way to show someone that you're serious. Hell, it solves two problems at once. Murdering bastard doesn't have anything to come back to now."

Jericho finally lights his smoke and puffs on it with reckless abandon. "Fuckin' hell," the older man mutters. "What are we supposed to tell Lucy?"

"Nothing."

Jericho rounds on the younger man, ash scattering from the end of his smoke. "And who the fuck says I'm staying quiet?"

Gabriel turns and stares at the ex-raider, that haunting, murderous look in his eyes. "I am. You already screwed things up by dragging her here. She's an emotional wreck right now. As much as I want to, I can't blame her for that."

Gabriel prods Jericho's armored shoulder with a stiff finger. "If you go and tell that girl her brother is responsible for her grief, there's no telling what she'll do. I don't have time to play babysitter, and neither do you. Tomorrow I'm going after Ian and the Family. Then, well..." He pulls his laser pistol from its holster and points it into the darkness. "Pew pew. I end this bullshit."

Jericho is about to respond when he sees movement in the corner of his eye. He turns to see Lucy West standing nearby. It's difficult to see in the low light, but her eyes are red with the crying she's been doing.

"I want to talk to you," she says.

"He's all yours," Gabriel tells her. He holsters his pistol, folds his arms and looks off into the distance.

"No," Lucy says defiantly. "It's you I want to talk to, Gabriel Matthews."

Jericho drops his blunted cigarette from his lips and crushes it under the heel of his boot. "Fuck this noise. I'm out." He stomps off without another word. He doesn't give Lucy a second glance as he passes her.

Silence passes between the boy and the girl. Gabriel doesn't bother looking at her, though he can practically feel her eyes on him.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "What do you want, Lucy?" His voice is little more than an irritated whisper. "If you're just here to yell at me, save your breath. I've got better shit to do than listen to you complain about what I do."

"I want you to find him, Gabriel. I want you to find my brother."

Gabriel shoots her a glare. "Your brother is dead, Lucy." _If he isn't, he's going to be._

"He's not dead," she snarls. "I know he's out there. And I know that _you_ know that he's out there."

He rounds on her, fury clear on his shadowy face. "You don't know jack shit, Lucy. You have no idea-"

"Ian's the one who killed my parents, isn't he?"

Gabriel's anger dies in his throat, replaced by pure, honest shock. He gapes at her and she places a hand on her hip, cold anger bright in her eyes.

"I'm not stupid," she tells him, failing to keep the contempt from her voice. "I might not be as smart as you, Gabriel Matthews, but I'm not stupid. I know my brother, and everyone has their secrets." She looks away. "His are mine."

Without waiting for him to reply, Lucy tells Gabriel the story of how her brother became a cannibal.

* * *

Five years ago:_  
_

* * *

_"C'mon sis! It's just over here!"_

_A fifteen year old Lucy sighed and followed her brother down the concrete rise. "Ian, whatever you've seen, it's probably not a deathclaw footprint."_

_Ian, newly thirteen and full of youthful determination, stuck out his tongue at his older sister as he walked. "You'll see. It's the biggest footprint I've ever seen!"_

_She tried not to smile at his enthusiasm, but failed miserably. Ian was still the baby of the family after all. Even as a teenager, he's still more boyish than he'd like to admit. _

_He waved Lucy to catch up. "Hurry up! Not much farther now. It's down by-" Ian stopped short and stared. Lucy's gazed travelled to where Ian's rested._

_There was a stranger at the brahmin pen. _

_Wrapped in dusty rags that could hardly be called clothes, the man was trying to hop the shoulder-high fence that kept the brahmin closed in. Lucy wondered how they failed to have spotted him before._

_"Hey!" Ian shouted. "Get away from there, you lousy bum!"_

_The man looked at the children. He had a face that was all but surrounded by a scraggly brown beard and mussy, unkempt hair._

_"Well now," the stranger muttered as he dislodged himself from the fence and dropped to the ground. "Got ourselves some young people. That's nice. That's nice." He reached into his ragged shirt and retrieved a rusty switchblade. "Gonna cut ourselves some young people. That's nice. Real nice."_

_Lucy stood, frozen in horror, as the ragged man lunged toward her brother, the knife outstretched. She heard his gasp of pain and blood flashed into the air. Ian fell to the ground, clutching his face with his hands. Blood poured between his fingers and streaked across the front of his shirt. _

_The ragged man looked down at the fallen boy and then up to Lucy. "Pretty girl," he muttered. "Gonna fuck me a pretty girl, yes indeed. That's nice. Real nice." He shuffled toward her, knife in hand. It was wet with her brother's blood. _

_She tried to scream, but no sound came out. He was getting closer. She could see the sick smile on his face, and the madness in his bloodshot eyes. She couldn't move, her fear was so great._

_She was nearly within arm's reach when something tackled the ragged man to the ground. Snarling and clawing, Ian rolled in the dirt with his assailant and knocked the knife away. Wide-eyed, Lucy watched in horror as her brother brought punch after punch down on the man's face. Each hit produced a sickening 'thud', and each thud added to Lucy's fear. Ian's face was red with blood, a deep cut across his left cheek. It ran down his face and into his open, laughing mouth._

_After an eternity of hitting, the ragged man went still. Ian looked up at the sky and laughed. The day was warm, but the laughter was cold._

_Then, as if to mark the completion of his victory, Ian leaned down and ripped the ragged man's throat out with his teeth._

* * *

"It was crazy," Lucy tells Gabriel. "He... he ate the guy's throat. Blood was everywhere. I tried to pull him off, but he threw me, pinned me to the ground. I thought he was going to kill me too, but then his eyes went all glassy and he passed out." She shivers. "I made sure Ian was okay, then I dragged the dead guy down by the river. They found him the next day, but Wasteland animals had been at him. I had Ian tell mom and dad that he had fallen and cut himself. Nobody suspected a thing.'

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "And what, you lived life with your cannibal brother as best you could? Don't feed me that crap, Lucy."

"It's the truth," she snaps, trying to keep composed. "I never told anyone, until now. Those first few months after the attack, he'd get really agitated, like a starved dog. I'd hold him until the shaking stopped. After that, he told me that the cravings just went away. We buried all that and lived our lives. I moved away a few months ago, and I thought everything with Ian was okay." A guilty look crosses her face. "I guess I was wrong."

Gabriel looks away and into the darkness. "I guess you were. Stupid to keep something like that a secret."

"What about you? What about your secrets?" He turns to look at her, but Lucy fixes him with a hard glare. "Were you really planning on killing us?" she asks. "Simms, Moira, me, all of us?"

Gabriel turns away. He knows that his Pip-Boy was accessed when he was in jail. The pieces fall into place. "It was Simms, wasn't it? He looked and told you, didn't he?"

"I want an explanation, Gabriel." Lucy's all out of tears now. He can hear the anger in her voice.

Gabriel counters her glare with one of his own. The fire flickers in the blue of his eyes and gives his gaze that much more intensity. "I don't need to justify myself to you, Lucy West. Not to you, or anyone else."

"Can't you think of anyone but yourself for a change?" She's all but shouting now. "What is wrong with you? Don't you care about anything?" She walks up to him and stops, only inches away.

Gabriel doesn't budge. She can yell all she wants. It won't change anything. He's already decided what she is to him. And, in the grand scheme of things, Lucy West doesn't matter much.

She takes a step forward, but pulls back and looks at her feet. "I thought that I... we..." She trembles a little and looks at him with pleading eyes. He can see the want in her face. What she wants is to be with him. What she wants is for things to be kind. She wants her parents to be alive, her lover to be a gentle and caring soul, and her life to find some semblance of normalcy.

She's looking for the life he had, not even a week ago, claimed he was looking for. A dream conjured within a weak fantasy. He'll never be what she wants. He'll never care enough, love enough, laugh enough. There aren't any paths in his life that cross with hers.

"I don't love you," he says, not caring how she reacts. "I don't love anyone. Not even myself."

Her voice is shaky, but she's able to speak. "I don't believe that. You're a good person, Gabriel. I've seen it." She reaches out for him, as if trying to draw that person out. "I want to help you, Gabriel." She places a hand on his shoulder. "All you have to do-"

Faster than she can see, his knife is at her throat. The whisper of a gasp is all she can muster. The blade flickers in the low light. It dazzles under her eyes.

"You are pathetic," he breathes. She can see the murder in his eyes. It's the same look she saw in Ian's, all those years ago.

"Pathetic," he repeats, lifting the knife up to her chin. A bead of blood pools at the knife's point. "That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. You clearly have no idea what you're dealing with, because anyone else with even the smallest modicum of intelligence would have figured this out by now. You're nothing." He moves in closer. She can feel the heat of his breath on her face.

"I don't want your help," he tells her. "I don't want your sympathy. I don't want your love, your sex, your bullshit. Nothing you offer is anything I want. You are a weakness, a liability. You're a foolish girl that wastes her life chasing fantasies, things that don't exist and never will. It's fuckin' annoying."

He pulls the knife away and wipes her blood on his leg. She stands frozen, unable to move or speak. He moves away from her and opens the door to her house. He doesn't look back at her.

"Get out of my life, Lucy West."

He closes the door. Darkness swallows him up.

* * *

Vance shivers, though its not from the cold of the wind.

He's outside, away from the safety of his home, Meresti. It's dark, but Vance's eyes have long since adapted to low lighting. He can see the firelight off in the distance, the one that belongs to the town of Arefu.

"I know you're out there," he whispers. The wind bites into him, fangs longer and sharper than any beast.

The voice that answers comes from behind him. "Vance-my-boy. Did you really think your debt was paid?"

Vance doesn't turn. He can feel the presence, all malevolence and evil. "I'm not your slave. Not anymore."

A laugh, one that cuts into him deeper than any knife. "Pathetic. You were always so proud, Vance-my-boy. Always so damn sure of yourself." The voice closes in. Vance can feel a warm, hellish breath on his neck. "Guess what? We had a deal, you and I. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you love. I gave you purpose. I gave you a family. I gave you everything. You cannot run from me. You cannot escape."

Vance grits his teeth. His hands are shaking with fear and rage. "Begone, foul thing." The words are little more than a whisper. The Hunger stirs in his gut, a feeling he's been without for years now.

The voice snarls in response. Vance can hear the gnashing of teeth. He remains still, despite the infernal presence.

"You no longer get to play runaway," it tells him. "Nothing ever lasts, Vance-my-boy. This cannibal rehab nonsense? It will end. Your love for your wife? It will end. Your peace of mind, your defiance? All of it will end. You are nothing. You are a pawn. Pawns serve only one purpose, to be used as the king sees fit."

"Begone, foul thing."

"Pawns are meant to be sacrificed, Vance-my-boy. You will pay your debt, one way or another."

"Begone, foul thing!"

Silence follows Vance's shout into the night. His whole body is shaking. Tears have pooled under his tired, fearful eyes. He wipes them away on the sleeve of his duster.

"I am no-one's pawn," he whispers in defiance. "You have no hold over me. Not anymore." His hands clench into fists. "I will fight you till my dying breath, and beyond. You cannot break me, creature."

The wind picks up and wails around him. In the dead of night, it sounds like shrieking laughter.

* * *

Morning.

Gabriel scratches the back of his neck and pulls himself up. He hasn't gotten much sleep, even with how tired he was the night before. Sleeping in a room where people have been recently killed doesn't help the sheep-counting. As he rises out of the bed, he remembers the events of the night before. The words he and that girl had shared flit through his mind. The words that matter are the ones he focuses on.

Her brother, a flesh-eater? The idea is insane. Abhorrent. Evil. Raw and foul, the concept bounces through Gabriel's thoughts like Harden Simms' rubber ball.

Gabriel looks out over the landscape. The sun is still low in the sky, and a quick Pip-Boy check shows that it's early morning. He's down by the West's home, the building he had fallen asleep leaning against. He pats himself down to knock a few patches of dirt from his armor. His back is a little stiff, but he's otherwise okay.

Hungry.

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a fistful of brahmin jerky strips. He's become rather fond of the preserved meats. The don't spoil easily and they provide a lot of energy. He tears into them with an almost savage gusto, ripping at the salted flesh. He swallows in half-chewed gulps, too hungry to care.

The idea of cannibalism enters his mind again and Gabriel suddenly loses his appetite.

Frowning with disgust, he wraps the remaining jerky in a piece of pre-war tinfoil and finds something less... fleshy. He smiles as he finds an old military MRE, still perfectly preserved. The idea of consuming 200 year old food doesn't have much appeal, but at least it's something.

"Chilli and Macaroni," he says with a half smile. "Breakfast of champions." He opens the packaging and sets down to eat his meal. Nobody bothers him, because nobody else is awake. Well, except maybe Jericho. He did have the night watch, after all.

Gabriel eats in silence. The food isn't good, he doesn't try to fool himself otherwise, but at least it's filling. It'll be more than enough energy to find The Family. He checks his weapons, grabs his supplies and starts his journey out of town. Jericho, still awake as Gabriel is leaving, gives the boy a tired nod. Gabriel returns the gesture with a nod of his own. For all the ex-raider's lack of intellect and tact, Gabriel has developed a liking for the old man. He understands the way Jericho thinks. A healthy respect, from one killer to the next.

"Hey kid!" Jericho shouts after him. Gabriel turns and sees the older man jogging down the hill after him.

_Great,_ Gabriel thinks. _Lucy spilled the beans on what happened last night, and now mister tough-guy is going to set me straight._

Still, he waits as Jericho approaches. The older man reaches into his armor with a gnarled hand. Gabriel's laser pistol is up almost instantly, pointing directly between Jericho's eyes. "Don't even think about it."

Jericho blinks once. Twice. "Jesus fuck!" he says, taking two steps back. "What the hell, kid? What the hell is this?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Trying to pull a gun on me, Jericho?"

"What? No! I just forgot to give you this!"

Jericho slowly reaches into his armor and pulls out a battered envelope. "It's Lucy's letter to her family. She wanted me to give it to you." Like an idiot, the ex-raider holds the letter out. The paper smears under his dirt-stained fingers.

Gabriel holsters his pistol and sighs. _She's a persistent one. Stupid, but persistent. _"And what on earth would I need that for?"

Jericho shrugs. "Kid, I'm just doing what the poor girl asked. She needs all the help she can get, all the people she can to look out for her."

Gabriel snatches the letter from Jericho's hand and stuffs it into a pocket just under his armor. "Whatever." He walks off, his rifle in hand.

"Good luck!" Jericho yells. "Try not to get your dumb ass killed!"

Gabriel gives him a wave, not bothering to turn around. Jericho watches him until the young man is nothing more than a hazy shape in the distance.

"That kid's fuckin' crazy," Jericho mutters. He brings a cigarette to his lips and lights it. "But fuck me if I ever get in his way."

* * *

He clicks the rifle's safety. On, off. On, off. His fingers are restless. His mind is burning with the task at hand.

It's exciting. Not in the way disarming a nuke is exciting, or taking on Talon Company, or even playing hide and seek with an ornery sniper is exciting. No, this is a different sort of excitement. He's the one doing the hunting now. It's a thrilling thought. So many unknowns remain in play. How many are there? What kind of weapons will they have? He's just one man against so many hidden factors.

"This is going to be... interesting," he hisses. A cold smile curls the edges of his mouth. "Very interesting."

It's another hour of walking before the station entrance comes into view. He's taken the long route around the dried riverbed in order to avoid potential hostiles. On the way he eats a bit of jerky and drinks water from a large army canteen. The day is getting hot, but Gabriel's glad for it. The heat keeps him moving, keeps him focused.

When he reaches the station entrance, he's almost disappointed. No Talon Company waiting for him, no raider ambush. It's almost disconcertingly quiet. The hiss of dust on the wind is the only sound he can hear.

He looks down at the steps leading to the mouth of the station entrance. It's black further in, as if no light is able brave its depths.

The voice in his head is almost as excited as he is. _Well now, Gabe-my-boy. Shall we descend into the darkness? Shall we get ourselves into trouble?_

"Read my goddamn mind," he mutters. He laughs for a moment at the unintentional joke, then activates his Pip-Boy light. The wind prompts him forward with a push. Slowly, his rifle held at the ready, Gabriel walks down the stairs and toward the rusty gate.

It opens with a hideous shriek. The metal hasn't been oiled in over two hundred years. _So much for the stealthy approach,_ Gabriel thinks. He moves swiftly through the opening, weapon raised and his Pip-Boy shining. The rubble inside is relatively light. The government standards used to build train tunnels have long since outlasted the people who created them.

He moves slowly, breathing through his nose. There's a light source ahead, a flaming barrel near the old turnstiles. There's a body next to the barrel, sprawled out on its back. Gabriel flicks his light off and approaches the corpse, keeping an eye out for enemies.

The body is male, that much is obvious. The rest is up to speculation, considering that the corpse has been all but shredded by assault rifle fire. The face is little more than a pulpy mass, and the stink coming from the body tells Gabriel that the man's been dead for a few days, at the very least.

He moves past the body and toward a door marked 'STATION STAFF ONLY'. Sliding across the wall, rifle in hand, Gabriel slowly reaches for the door handle.

The door opens, though it's not his hand that does it. Without thinking, Gabriel barges through the door frame and into the figure standing there. He throws the stranger to the ground with a push of his shoulder. He can smell the permeating stink of chemical waste, mixed with what smells like burnt sugar.

Gabriel aims his rifle at the figure, now sprawled out on the ground. "Where's Ian?" he growls.

Something cold and metal presses against the side of his head. It doesn't take an intellect of Gabriel's caliber to know there's a gun ready to blow his brains out.

"Drop your weapon, smoothskin," a voice rasps. Gabriel can make out a figure in the corner of his vision, one wearing combat armor and holding a combat shotgun to his head. He can see the fat drum magazine slung under the weapon's barrel.

With massive reluctance, Gabriel allows the barrel of his rifle to drop. He places the weapon on the floor slowly, so not as to prompt the gunman into action. "I'm looking for Ian West," Gabriel says, his heart pounding.

The figure he had knocked to the ground rises, cursing aloud and dusting itself off. "Fuckin' hell, what was that for?" In the dim light, Gabriel can see the man better. Or rather, the ghoul. The mutant looks down at him through the thick lenses of his square eyeglasses. He's wearing a simple faded white shirt and brown military fatigues. "The hell are you doing down here, smoothskin? Who's Ian West?"

Gabriel glances at the gunman and confirms that the other is a ghoul as well. "I'm looking for The Family."

The ghoul with the glasses dusts himself off and gives Gabriel a puzzled look. "The Family? You're not here to steal my secrets?"

Gabriel shakes his head, slowly. The barrel of the shotgun is cold against the tip of his right ear. "No. I didn't mean to cause trouble." He manages a half-smile. "And I definitely didn't mean to get mixed up in... whatever it is that you're doing."

The ghoul gives his bodyguard a glance and shrugs. Gabriel's relief is almost palpable as the shotgun is pulled away. He rises slowly, not bothering to reach for his rifle. The ghouls still have him between a rock and a hard place, and everyone in the room knows it.

"No sudden moves, human." The gunman warns. His face is little more than an angry glare, albeit a horribly irradiated one.

The ghoul with the glasses looks Gabriel over carefully. "You're strapped to the nines, smoothskin. You going to war or some shit?"

Gabriel looks down at the array of weapons he's accumulated. "Something like that."

To his surprise, the ghoul laughs. "Well then, don't let me stop you." After a moment, the mutant holds out a rotting hand. "Name's Murphy. I'm... well, I guess you could call me a chemist."

Gabriel shakes the offered hand and the tension in the room dissipates almost instantly. "Gabriel. I'm something of a scientist myself."

"Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you for the brainy type, smoothskin. You look more like a merc to me." A glint appears in Murphy's eyes and he adjusts his glasses. "And you might be just what we need."

Gabriel gives the room a look. It's dark and dirty, but that's to be expected. There's a large chemistry setup on a nearby table, and it's the source of the lab's strange smell. A few supplies are scattered around, and Gabriel can see a pair of cots in the nearby bathroom.

"And what makes you say that?" he asks. "Hell, what makes you think I'll do anything for you?"

Murphy's chuckle sounds like the cough of a dying man. "Quid pro quo, smoothskin. You help me, I help you. You want to know where The Family's hiding, right? I can tell you. A favor for a favor."

A grin splits Gabriel's face. He's been doing a lot of that lately, and not the good kind. "And what's stopping me from cutting off your fingers until you tell me what I need to know? I think I've got a knife around here somewhere..."

The ghoul with the shotgun raises his weapon and points it at Gabriel's head again. "Just give me a fuckin' reason, human."

Murphy sighs, indifferent to the threat. "Knock it off, Barrett. Go find something useful to do."

The ghoul with the shotgun huffs and stomps off toward the bathroom. "Ignore him," Murphy says. "Barrett don't like strangers much."

Gabriel cautiously picks up his rifle and slings it across his back. "I never would have guessed. So what exactly do you need me to do?"

Murphy takes a seat in an old rotating office chair and gives himself a few spins. "We used to have this whole section open to us. The transfer area and the public restrooms were open ground, good for testing out some of my more... volatile experiments. Unfortunately for us, a family of mole rats moved in a few days ago and drove us out. I want you to vacate the little bastards from the premises."

"You're joking, right?" Gabriel nods over to where Barrett is cleaning off the cots. "Get your goon to do it."

Murphy laughs and shakes his head. "Barrett? Not a chance. It doesn't matter how much I pay him, that poor bastard is too afraid of those wrinkled monsters for him to be useful. Ain't that right, Barry?"

"Shut your mouth!"

Murphy chuckles again and scratches one side of his rotted face. "There you have it, smoothskin. Barrett ain't gonna do it, but you look like a pack o' mole rats wouldn't scare you. My info for the lives of those mole rats. We got a deal?"

Gabriel folds his arms. "I'm going to need more incentive if you want me to do your dirty work, Murphy. Firepower isn't cheap."

Murphy nods and rises from his seat. "You got a point. Hang on a sec, I think I got something in the back that might interest you." The ghoul walks into a side room and comes out a moment later holding a military-grade power fist.

The ghoul holds it out to him. "Here. We found this in a storage crate a while back, but neither of us have the know-how for this kind of tech. It'll do more good with you than just sitting around, that's for sure."

Gabriel takes the proffered weapon and hefts it in his right hand. Though he's never seen one in person, a few records he was able to access from the Vault 101 archives explained the design of the standard military pneumatic fist. The weapon itself is a large metal gauntlet that has a large, armor-plated piston built in just above the wrist. The piston is designed to shoot forward when the glove comes into contact with a surface. The term 'power fist' comes from the fact that the piston adds an incredible amount of kinetic force to any blow made with the large gauntlet. Though he's never seen one in action, Gabriel knows that a power fist has the potential to be as destructive as a bulldozer.

The specific fist he's holding is in remarkably good shape. There's hardly any wear to the thing, likely from its long stay in storage. Still, the fist isn't without its blemishes. Someone, likely a previous owner who is long since dead, took the liberty of welding the word 'Fisto!' across the front of the impact plate. Gabriel smiles at the crudeness of the joke.

His left hand is encased in his Pip-Boy, so the right hand gets the honor of donning the lethal gauntlet. It fits... well, like a glove. The wide metal brace is a bit large, and is too flared at the back for Gabriel to hold a two-handed gun with any hope of keeping a normal combat stance. His right hand is unobstructed, thankfully, so it's possible to use a pistol or other one-handed weapon while wearing Fisto!.

"It'll do," Gabriel says after a moment of adjusting the power fist. "Do you know how many mole rates there are?"

"Couple'a big ones," Murphy tells him. "Might be a few smaller critters around, but there's two alphas for sure. Oh, and a nasty, breeding female. Wipe them out, and I'll tell you where The Family is."

The human nods and leaves the room, heading in the opposite direction. He draws his laser pistol with his left hand and readies Fisto! in the other. He can hear the creatures in the next room, shuffling, snarling. Adrenaline flows through him in anticipation.

Less than ten minutes later, Gabriel returns to Murphy. The front of his brown armor is red with blood, but there's a satisfied grin plastered across his face. "Done is done. That was more fun than I thought it was going to be."

Murphy laughs and claps Gabriel on the shoulder. "Now that's what I like to see, a smoothskin with some stones. I owe you one, kid."

Gabriel reaches into his bag and pulls out a towel, a box of Abraxo cleaner and a bottle of water. He wets the towel, dabs a little Abraxo on the wet spot and slowly wipes the blood off his armor. "And I intend to cash that favor in, Murphy." His tone takes on an air of severity. "The Family. Where are they and how do I get to them?"

Murphy nods and walks across the lab space and over to the storage area. He opens the door and ushers Gabriel inside. There are only a few boxes toward the front of the room, but it's the end of the space that Murphy shows him. There's a manhole built into the floor, right in front of a trio of toxic waste disposal barrels. The barrels have long since fallen into disuse and glowing radioactive material has spilled out the side of them.

"Down through there," Murphy says, pointing at the manhole. "The tunnels on the surface collapsed a long time ago, but water got out of that sewer line and made a cavern. Part of the old Meresti train line came down a few months back and leads right into the cavern. The Family's got themselves tucked away in the old line transfer station. Only one way in and out of that place, and it's guarded pretty heavy."

Gabriel gives Murphy a sidelong glance. "You ever meet these... people?"

The ghoul shrugs. "Did some trading with them for a few months, but the guy they have running the shop is a greedy bastard. I knew it wouldn't last, and it didn't."

"You know their numbers? Weapons? Things like that?"

Murphy shakes his head and runs a hand through the remaining hairs he has left. "No such luck, smoothskin. I never saw the inside of their main compound, and I only ever met the gate guard and their merchant."

"So you're not sure how many of them there are."

"Not a clue. Though I suspect if you start shooting at them, you'll find out real quick how big The Family is."

Gabriel sighs with irritation and walks out of the storage room, Murphy close behind him. "Sorry I couldn't be more help," the ghoul says.

"Don't worry about it. You've been more help than anyone else I've dealt with these last few days. Well, except Jericho."

A surprised laugh escapes Murphy's rotted lips. "Wait a second, you know Jericho?"

"Yeah, he came out this way with me from Megaton. How do you know him?"

Murphy takes a seat in his chair and leans back, letting the suspension hold him up. "I knew Jericho back from his raiding days. He and his thugs would bring me material, and I'd pay him. It went real well until that nasty business with Talon Company left him hung out to dry. How's old Jerry doing these days?"

Gabriel blinks. "Jerry? His name's Jerry?" He bursts into peals of healthy, honest laughter, enough to leave the Vault-dweller clutching his sides. "Oh... oh god. Ow. That hurts." More laughter shakes him and it's all Gabriel can do not to topple over.

The laughter proves to be infectious. Murphy's chuckle adds its strange, gurgled harmony to Gabriel's long-winded exhalation. Barrett pokes his head around the corner to see what all the fuss is about, but he retreats at the sheer ridiculousness that has overcome his boss and the smoothskin stranger.

Wheezing from the effort, Gabriel finally quiets. He's forgotten how good it feels to just let it out like that. All the stress, all the anger that's been building up over the last few days seems like it's years in the past. It just feels _good_ to laugh like that, to let it all out. There's no other way to describe it.

Murphy settles back into his seat and grins. "Smoothskin, you sure are one weird dude. But I like you, so I guess I'm a weird dude too."

"Sounds about right," the human agrees. His eyes spot a workbench and an assortment of tools. "Mind if I do some tinkering?"

"Go for it. I hardly use that stuff anyway. Got all my equipment set up just right. Been that way for years now."

Gabriel busies himself with removing Fisto!. He sets it on the workbench and grabs a pair of pliers and a small screwdriver before descending on the weapon like a carrion bird.

"If you don't mind my asking," Gabriel says as he works, "What exactly is it that you're cooking down here?"

Murphy leans back and cracks his knuckles. "Ultrajet. An enhanced form of the standard Jet formula. Stuff's strong enough to wake the friggin' dead. It has to be. Regular Jet does hardly anything for us ghouls. Gotta give it a little more kick for the folks back in Underworld."

Gabriel whistles at the prospect, though he doesn't look up from his modifications. "Must be one hell of a high. What's your process for increasing the effect?"

Murphy gives himself a good spin in his chair. "Now that's telling," he chastises. "But I will tell you that it involves a complex formula, a bit of luck and Sugar Bombs."

A pause from the human. "Sugar Bombs? That nasty pre-war cereal?"

"The very one. Stuff's crucial for my work, though I wouldn't have guessed it. This was a while ago, mind you, but I discovered that Sugar Bombs were the missing ingredient for my formula when Barrett over there knocked his breakfast into one of my test tubes."

The bodyguard's voice carries into the room. "You're fuckin' welcome!"

"And he's never let me forget it," Murphy mutters.

Gabriel pries a metal plate off of Fisto!'s casing. "Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you. It's not like you can just walk into a grocery store and pick up the supplies you need."

Murphy gives himself an agitated spin. "You don't know the half of it. These days I'm lucky if Barrett here can scrounge up a box a week. Worse than that, my contacts in Underworld aren't too happy with me not being able to keep up with my shipments. This whole lousy mess wouldn't be a problem if The Family weren't a bunch of stingy bastards. I know they've got a stash of the things, but that jackass merchant of theirs kept raising his prices."

Gabriel finishes his alterations to Fisto!'s frame and slides the power fist back onto his arm. The exterior plating has been removed, save for a few strips of metal designed to keep the weapon tight around the wearer's arm. He's also loosened a few superfluous attachments in order to make the power fist more flexible while still retaining its destructive potential. Now he can use his rifles while still being able to wear the gauntlet.

The original design was hardy and well developed, but the additional armor and useless extras reek of military tampering with the development process. "Much better," he says as he adjusts Fisto!, "Now it's perfect. Or at least, as perfect as it needs to be." He clenches his fist and feels the tug of the piston working in time with his movements. Just _wearing_ Fisto! feels powerful and that makes it a welcome addition to his arsenal.

Murphy breaks Gabriel's train of thought with a question. "So what're you planning to do when you stumble across The Family, huh? You sure as hell made it seem like you were out for blood."

Gabriel looks himself over and checks his weapons. "It's a long story."

The ghoul straightens his eyeglasses and folds his arms. "I ain't going anywhere, smoothskin. Besides, you got anything better to do?"

Gabriel glares at the lounging ghoul. "Yeah, actually. I've got a pack of murdering cannibals to find." Without waiting for a reply, the human walks into the storage room and shuts the door behind him. The toxic wastes sits before him like an omen.

Murphy sighs and places his feet on his desk. "Probably should've told him about the mirelurks," he muses. The ghoul reaches for a lukewarm bottle of Nuka-Cola and takes a long, sweet drink.

"Eh, he'll find out."

* * *

Nothing.

Sarah stomps into the Den, dejected and frustrated. After nearly three hours of sifting through files on Rothchild's personal terminal, she's returned to her squad empty-handed. She's got nothing. Nothing to make her father listen, nothing to ensure Tristan's future cooperation, and nothing to bring the Pride back to its glory days.

The rest of the Pride watch her as she slumps into a chair. It groans under the weight of her armor. Silence fills the room. Nobody wants to say anything.

Eventually, Glade musters up some courage. "Any luck, Sentinel?"

"Waste of time," she mutters.

"Okay," Glade says gently, "then we just figure something else out. We're the Pride, for Christ's sake. We always find a way."

"There's no point," Sarah says. Glade cringes a little at the tone in her voice. Sarah hasn't been this upset since... well, since Cain died.

Since that god-awful day, the Pride has slowly but surely been pushed out of its regular excursion zones. They haven't had any other casualties since then, thankfully, but losing ground is still losing ground. They've managed to keep the mutants out of the high-risk zones and a few of the old metro tunnels, but most of the DC area is still hostile territory.

Glade realizes just how much of a win Sarah needed when she had picked up on her hunch about the Capitol building. It had brought that spark back into her eyes, that fire that she had used to annihilate scores of super mutants. Her grin had returned too, the one she wore when one of her lasers would strike a mutie right between the eyes, or when a grenade she had thrown managed to take out an entire group of the bastard things. Sarah was the most skilled out of all of them, no doubt, but she also had a fair amount of luck at her back.

Though, with things going as poorly as they have been, Sarah luck seems to have diminished considerably. And with her luck gone, Sarah's normally amicable and can-do attitude has all but vanished.

"I say we hit the place anyway," Dusk says, bringing Glade out of his thoughts. "All of us, one big push. I don't care how many mercs and muties there are, they can't stop the Lyon's Pride!"

"And then we all die horribly," Vargas grunts, "Trying to make a push that deep into hostile enemy territory without backup or a decent fallback position." The squad leader shoots Dusk a glare. "Stick to sniping. Leave tactics up to Sarah and I."

Dusk rises from her seat, her eyes alight with anger. "I'll give you tactics, you son of a-"

"Enough!" Kodiak barks. The Paladin rounds on Dusk. "You'll show the Paladin-Commander some goddamn respect, Knight-Captain. He's got rank. For that matter, so do I."

She's angry, but Dusk keeps her mouth shut and leaves the room. A sheepish-looking Colvin moves to follow her, but he turns to Vargas just before he walks out. "She doesn't mean anything by it, sir." Everyone in the room is well aware that the relationship between Dusk and Vargas boils down to longstanding dislike, but Colvin is treating the most recent incident as if it's the first such occurrence. Sarah can't tell if Colvin is trying to deflate tension or if he's actually sticking up for Dusk. The sniper and the scout have never shared a friendship. The only thing between the two is a unhealthy rivalry. Unless...

Vargas waves Colvin's comment off. "I know she doesn't mean it. Dusk just has a habit of running her mouth when she shouldn't. She'll cool off."

Colvin nods, salutes, and walks through the doorway. Glade rises shortly afterward, muttering something about 'getting grub' as he leaves.

Vargas sighs and runs a tired hand across the top of his shaved head. "All this drama bullshit is starting to get annoying," he says to no-one in particular. The silence that follows his statement only confirms his suspicions. "I'll be in the Armory if anyone needs me. But it'd be better for everyone if I was left undisturbed for the next hour or so." Vargas has never been shy about his relationship with Knight-Captain Durga. Well, it's less of a relationship and more two no-nonsense people fucking each other.

Sarah sighs as Vargas leaves. It's only her, Kodiak and Gallows now, though the latter has been completely silent the entire time. Kodiak stands and rubs the back of his neck. There's pity in his eyes as he looks down at the Sentinel. Sarah's too downtrodden to vocalize her anger at the expression on his face, but she's still angry that it's there.

He opens his mouth to say something, something comforting and thoughtful and well-meaning. Sarah's glare shoots him down. She doesn't want his sympathy. She's Sentinel of the Pride, for fuck's sake. Sarah's supposed to be the best there is. She's not supposed to be a moping, angry mess. She's supposed to be the pillar that holds up her squad, the rock against the tide of anything that can weaken them.

Kodiak smiles softly and salutes before leaving. She watches him go, moving with the powerful motions of his power armor. She wants to call out, to apologize, but she doesn't have the words for it. He closes the door and it's only her and Gallows. The Knight-Captain in question is leaning against a wall, his arms crossed. The eye-slits of his helmet are trained on her like the black eyes of some glaring predator.

"Well?" she snaps, "Aren't you going to say something cryptic? Don't you have some words of wisdom to growl at me?"

Gallows stays silent.

"I don't need to hear it! Not from you or anyone else!" Sarah's all but yelling now. "I'm not going to let this beat me! I'm not going to just stand around and let everyone tell me that I can't do anything. I'm Sentinel! I'm in command of the best damn soldiers in the Wasteland! I won't go quietly! If I'm done, then I'm going to go kicking and screaming and shooting! That's the Brotherhood way! That's _my_ way! And there's nothing on this lousy, burnt rock that can take that from me!"

She stands there, her fists clenched and her shoulders heaving. That old spark, the one that made her the woman she is today, is alive in her eyes and blazing. Gallows remains silent as he looks on her with an eyeless gaze.

Sarah calms herself and allows the tension to drop from her frame. A weight falls off of her, one that she hadn't even realized existed. It flows off of her like water and cleans away the stain of her earlier anger. She looks up at Gallows, who continues to observe his mute vigil.

"I-" Sarah looks expectantly at Gallows, as if willing him to reprimand her. When it doesn't happen, she smiles a little. "Thank you, Knight-Captain. You always know how to make me feel better."

Gallows acknowledges her with a nod.

Sarah manages a light laugh. "You're right," she tells him as she walks to the door.

"Words are overrated."

* * *

His descent is silent, or at least devoid of words.

The click of his Pip-Boy's Geiger counter is ignored as Gabriel descends through the manhole and into the dark cavern beneath. It's dark, almost pitch black. He can hear the dripping of water and feel the wet metal of the ladder as it slides through his fingers. His boots make a splashing sound when he reaches the bottom. He's standing in a pool of irradiated water. His Pip-Boy clicks softly as it registers the radiation. Gabriel reaches down and flicks on its light.

In the dim green glow, Gabriel is suddenly aware that he's not alone.

Something big moves off to his right, and it's only his instinct that saves him. He rolls to the side as a massive, chitinous claw swings in an effort to decapitate him. He rises to a low crouch, laser pistol in his left hand, and blasts the creature six times. Gabriel's efforts only succeed in pissing the creature off.

With a speed that catches Gabriel off guard, the monster charges at him and sends him flying against a wall. His pistol is knocked out of reach and the creature moves in. He barely avoids the claw that embeds itself into the stone behind him.

The large brown crustacean, because it can't be anything else, makes an angry clicking sound as it struggles to remove its claw from the boulder. Gabriel dances away from the second claw as it makes a clumsy attempt to swipe at him. He takes a few steps back, out of the creature's reach.

His right hand clenches into a fist and he readies Fisto!. _Now's as good a time as any to break this thing in._ He moves in close and throws a vicious hook at the monster's exposed back.

The power behind his blow is staggering. The power fist rips through the armored chitin as though it's made of cardboard. Gabriel's punch rips a large chunk of the creature's back away. A clicking shriek fills the air. Real pain from the monster this time. Gabriel doesn't give it the chance to free itself. His second strike is a heavy uppercut that smashes the creature's spine and kills it instantly. It slumps to the ground at an angle, its arm still embedded in the stone.

Panting, Gabriel looks around for his laser pistol. He finds it, submerged in the shallow pool, after a bit of searching with his Pip-Boy light. He uses the side of his armor to dry the weapon and gives it a quick check to make sure it's still in working condition. Satisfied with the state of his pistol, he slide it into his holster, draws his assault rifle, and navigates his way through the cavern.

It turns out to be a small and otherwise uninhabited pair of caves with a few skeletons and brahmin carcasses laying about. Gabriel slowly plods his way forward, the steady drip of water the only source of sound in the cave. It's almost tranquil, but he knows better than to let down his guard.

Gabriel reaches the end of the cavern and sees a small amount of light coming in from a hole in the ceiling. Gabriel realizes that he's found the collapsed train line that Murphy had mentioned. There are a pair of dead creatures lying at the foot of the opening, limbs exploded and large burnt chunks missing from their armor. The crustaceans in question are similar to the larger counterpart that Gabriel had killed, but are smaller in size and a muddy blue color.

A faint smell washes over Gabriel, and it's not the stink of the corpses or the sour smell of irradiated water. No, the air has a tinge of explosive residue to it. The dead creatures at his feet set of a frag grenade or a landmine recently, though likely through no contact with actual people. The area ahead is likely riddled with traps. Gabriel's suspicions are confirmed when he moves up the ramp and sees a tripwire strung across the path ahead. At the mouth of the cave's exit, just ahead, he spots a trio of grenades tied in a bouquet. The trigger and the trap. Gabriel disarms the wire with his knife and carefully untangles the grenades before adding them to his belt.

He's in the metro proper now. Trash and rubble are everywhere and Gabriel does his best to move quietly through the mess. He comes across a few landmines along the way and disarms them with a quick hand. Though the tunnel continues farther down the track line, Gabriel makes a left around the ruins of an old train car and works his way deeper into the metro. A few more traps are all that impede his progress, and it's not long before he sees the tell-tale flicker of flames at the end of the tunnel.

He crouches low, swaps his rifle for Arkansas, and looks through the scope at the camp ahead.

There's a single guard posted, a weathered man in combat armor. His dirty hair is swept back behind his ears and there's a scruffy beard on his sour face. A 10mm SMG is strapped to the guard's hip and his right hand never strays too far from it.

Gabriel's hidden in shadow. It would be child's play to just take the guard's head off with a pull of the trigger. Easiest thing in the world.

But something stops him. Something reminds the young man that if he starts killing now, he may never get answers as to exactly what happened in Arefu and how The Family got involved. With a fair amount of reluctance, Gabriel straps Arkansas to his back and walks into the open.

* * *

Holly knows something is wrong when Vance, in the middle of one of his deep meditations, sits up straight and opens his eyes. She all but rushes to his side. His eyes are wide and full of something she hasn't seen in ages. Fear. Real, honest fear.

"Something is coming," her husband breathes. He trembles as Holly wraps her arms around him.

"Vance," she whispers, "Vance honey, what's wrong."

She can hear him muttering under his breath. It sounds like some kind of incantation in a language she doesn't recognize. When he finally does speak in normal tongue, he has to spit the words out.

"It's... it's _Him_."

* * *

The guard notices him immediately and brandishes his weapon. "Hey you! Step closer, hands in the air. No funny business, pal, you got that?"

Gabriel lifts his hands in the air and walks forward. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm looking for Ian West."

The guard blinks. "Yeah? Boss said somebody would probably be coming by to see about the kid. Those morons at Arefu send you?"

"I've got a letter from Ian's sister. I need to speak with him."

The guard rubs the back of his neck. "I dunno man, I gotta check with the boss. He-" A nearby ham radio squawks and cuts him off. The guard looks at Gabriel and then back to the radio. "Stay right there, stranger. Don't try anything stupid. He walks away, leaving Gabriel to wonder how a man this stupid could be given the job of gate guard.

Though he can't make out what's being said on the other end of the line, Gabriel's ears pick up the faint sound of what the guard is saying.

"Yeah, Robert here. There's a-" Pause. "How did you-? Eh, never mind. No, he's looking for the kid. Says he's got a letter from his sister. Yeah, Ian's sister. No, just some punk who's covered in guns. No glasses, far as I could tell. No hat either. Yeah. Understood. I'll send him your way."

Gabriel does his best to look expectant when the guard returns, but knowing what's going to happen before it occurs has a way of spoiling any good lie.

"All right, punk," Robert says as he holsters his SMG, "The boss wants to see you. You leave your guns and grenades here, you got that?"

It takes every fiber of Gabriel's being not to shoot the man in the face, but he manages to resist the urge. "Sure. No problem." He approaches slowly and one by one, hands over his grenade belt, assault rifle, laser pistol and, with great reluctance, Arkansas. Gabriel sees the way the guard's eyes roam covetously over his guns and he bristles with anger. He'll have no problem ripping Robert to shreds, if it comes to that.

Though he's been stripped of his guns, Gabriel is allowed to keep Fisto!, and his combat knife is still tucked away in his boot. Though he gets a 'try anything and we'll blow you away before you can lift a finger,' warning from Robert, Gabriel isn't unduly worried. If they wanted him dead, the gate guard would have tried something. If it's a trap, well, it's not his first rodeo.

He leaves Robert behind and makes his way deeper into The Family's compound, past another wrecked train and through a metal blast door. Another train tunnel yawns before him, but the area beyond it is well lit. They've managed to get the emergency generators up and running, as Gabriel can see the soft glow of electric lighting ahead.

His footsteps are loud, purposeful. He's arrived at his destination. He's all but weaponless and has no idea what he's up against. It's almost certainly a death sentence.

A grin curls corners of his mouth. He's never felt more alive.

* * *

The Family readies itself. If the approaching figure is a threat, he won't be leaving alive.

Vance watches from his alcove as the messenger enters his home. Their guest is nothing like he imagined. A armored young man with a mess of black hair, a confident prowl to his step, and...

A Pip-Boy?

His eyes never leave the new arrival. Justin and Alan, rifles raised, guide the young man up the steps of the escalators that have been dead for centuries. The young man ascends slowly so to keep from making any sudden movements. Their guest is no fool. And why would he be? The Stranger doesn't employ fools. At least, ones that aren't useful.

The boy is an agent. An instigator. It's not obvious, even to Vance's... senses, but he can feel the Stranger's presence on the newcomer. It's there, like fog on cold breath, or the chill that causes gooseflesh.

Though fear creeps in his thoughts, Vance does not allow it to overcome his senses. His flaming blade, the shishkebab, rests on his right hip. On his left, Vance wears his trusty sword, Vampire's Edge. The leader of Meresti is as prepared as he's ever going to be.

Next to him, Holly watches the boy approach and clutches her husband's arm. She doesn't understand what's happening, not really, but she knows enough to be afraid. She's never seen _Him_, thank the heavens, but she knows. He's told her and she believes him. She's been with him through so much. He loves her without measure.

And together, they stand against the force that threatens the life they have built together.

* * *

Gabriel's neutral expression hardens into a frown as he approaches The Family's leader. He's... intimidating. Vance is the first person Gabriel has met that fits the definition of that word to the letter. He's a thin, muscular frame wrapped in a green duster. His messy red hair is the mark of a man who has more important things to worry about than the state of his appearance. Vance's eyes are his most striking feature though, glowing silver orbs that radiate strength and determination. For the first time since arriving, a modicum of nervousness enters Gabriel's thoughts. The man before him is not one to be trifled with. Neither, in any case, are the blades at his belt. They're lovingly cared for and appear razor-sharp.

Clinging to Vance's arm is a woman with unkempt silver hair and wide, hazel eyes. Vance's wife? His lover? She's wearing leather pants and a matching vest over an old red sweater. There's a large handgun at her hip, a Colt .45. He has doubts she can actually fire the massive pistol, her hands are slender and delicate-looking.

Gabriel can see the apprehension in both the man and the woman as he approaches. A flicker in their eyes leaves him puzzled. Is that fear? Fear, from the people who have rendered him all but weaponless, and have him outnumbered seven to one? The idea is as ridiculous as Gabriel has ever heard. Still, it's there, and the looks on the faces of his hosts aren't helping dissuade the concept.

Trying to remain cordial in a potentially hostile situation, Gabriel holds out his hand. "I'm Gabriel Matthews. You're Vance. I understand Ian West is with you." When no hand is offered to be shaken, Gabriel slowly withdraws his own.

Vance blinks, stunned. He looks at Gabriel as though the young man is a coiled snake that hasn't tried to bite him yet. "Yes, I am Vance and yes, Ian is here. What business do you have with him? Why have you come to our home?"

Gabriel's patience is beginning to wear thin. "You and I both know why I'm here."

Vance's mouth tightens and his eyes narrow. "Yes, I suppose I do."

Silence passes between the two men. Gabriel sighs heavily and holds his hands out in front of him. "I'm going to reach into my armor now, okay? No weapons or anything. I've got a letter from Lucy West to her brother. If you want, I'll give it to you to give to him. I don't want any trouble."

The Family's leader looks hesitant at best, but he eventually nods. Gabriel slowly withdraws the letter from his armor and hands it to Vance. The older man snatches it from his hand as though it's a vial of plague. Christ alive, what is it with these people that makes them so damn jumpy?

Vance reads the letter in silence, his bright eyes skimming over the lines with an impressive rapidity. He hands it to the woman, who proceeds to do the same, albeit slower. She hands the letter back to Vance and they exchange whispered words. Gabriel can just make out the words 'Holly,' and 'Ian'. There's something about a 'stranger' in there as well, but he assumes they're referring to him. After a moment of muffled conversation, Vance and Holly nod to each other

Vance holds the letter out to Gabriel, who takes it slowly. "I do apologize for our earlier trepidation," the older man tells him. He's a little more at ease than before. "We're a close-knit group and we can be... overcautious at times."

"Like I said, I don't want any trouble."

Vance nods. "Of course. Let's start over. I am Vance, and this is my wife, Holly. Welcome to Meresti. Welcome to our home."

Gabriel looks around the space. He's on the second floor, so he can't really see what's below with any clarity, but it looks like The Family is doing well for itself. They've got an area for sleeping, a surplus of supplies, working electricity. A sloshing sound in one of the pipes above his head confirms that they have running water as well. It's certainly a more self-sufficient setup than what Arefu has.

"I'll try not to overstay my welcome," he tells the pair. "I'm just here to see Ian. I need to speak to him and deliver this." He waves the letter.

Vance's gaze narrows once more. "Holly, would you go see how our young ward is doing?"

Holly gives her husband a strange look, but she nods. "Of course." She walks away and heads down a nearby tunnel.

It's Vance who breaks the silence. "I imagine you already know about what transpired at Arefu."

Gabriel crosses his arms. "That's a nice way of putting it. I know Ian murdered his parents. I know he's a cannibal. And I know that you and your little gang managed to sneak him out of his home without anybody knowing he was gone."

Vance turns away and walks to the edge of the alcove. He looks down at those below, a tired sort of sadness in his eyes. "You seem to have put most of the pieces together, that much is certain. But the puzzle falls apart unless you've got them all."

Gabriel walks over and stands alongside his host. "So why don't you fill in the blanks for me? I'm tired of waiting, Vance. What the hell happened to that kid?"

It's a moment before Vance answers. "Ian West is a victim in all this. He suffers a terrible affliction, one that I am all to familiar with. It is called the Hunger, and it is a curse most foul. The Hunger took control of the boy and forced him to murder his own parents. I have seen similar events over the years. Thankfully, we were able to locate Ian and bring him here before he feasted on their flesh"

When Gabriel doesn't answer, Vance continues. "You see, the Hunger is a corruption of the soul. Those who bear it cannot control their actions while under its sinister influence. They seek to kill the living, and devour the flesh of the dead. It is an old curse, one that spans the length of human history. In these times, in this world ravaged by nuclear fire, it has become more and more prevalent. Those who suffer this curse are known as cannibals, and it is my mission to help them."

He raises his arms over his head. "That is why, many years ago, I created this place. This is sanctuary for those who bear the curse. This is a home for those who cannot exist elsewhere. I have saved these people from a life of suffering and evil. I have given them their lives back. I do this because I must, because there is no one else who will." He turns to Gabriel, his voice severe. "I have sacrificed much to ensure that this group, my Family, remains safe and secure. I have taught them the ways of the cleansing blood, and they have learned to control their affliction. For it is as I have seen, the five Laws."

"Feast not of the flesh; consume only the blood. This is our strength."

"Bear not the child; welcome only the exile. This is our fate."

"Feed not for pleasure; partake only to nourish. This is our dignity."

"Seek not the sun's light; embrace only the shadows. This is our refuge."

"And finally," Vance's gaze lingers on Gabriel. "Kill not our kindred; slay only the exile. This is our justice."

There's silence between the two men. Vance looks at Gabriel as though he's actually supposed to take Vance's mad rantings seriously. He's waiting for a response, and Gabriel is more than happy to give him one.

"You really expect me to believe that load of bullshit?"

The Family's leader sighs in sorrow. "I have told you what you wanted to know, young wanderer. If you are not satisfied with that answer, I can do nothing else."

Gabriel's had it. "Satisfied?" His voice rises in pitch and he takes a step toward Vance. "You have got to be shitting me! This is insane! All of it! You've brainwashed these people into believing that they're... they're vampires!" He pauses as the last pieces click into place. "You and your cronies sucked the blood out of Davis and Matilda West! You drank their blood! What the hell am I supposed to make of that?"

Vance doesn't flinch. "I have allowed them to gain control over their affliction. Blood is powerful, Gabriel. I had hoped you would understand."

It's crazy. It's ridiculous. Vance's... madness is beyond believable. He's delusional. Psychotic. The man has convinced himself that his lies and mad rituals are enough to rehabilitate cannibals. It goes against everything he believes in. Logic. Reason. It's as though Vance has spit in his face.

Gabriel's hands clench into fists. "You're a madman, Vance. That's all there is to it."

Vance takes a step back. He can see the fury in the younger man's eyes. "I had a feeling," he hisses. "Somehow I knew it. Your corrupt heart has already been encased within the grip of cold. You are tainted, and I'll not abide your presence any longer than necessary."

The men glare at each other as Holly returns, someone in tow. It's a boy, too short and young in the face to even look the part of a man. A mess of blonde hair sits on his head and his blue eyes are bloodshot. The look on the boy's face is that of sorrow and regret. He's dressed in a simple cloth shirt and pants. His feet are bare.

"Ian West?" Gabriel asks.

The boy nods, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Yeah, I'm Ian. Holly said you wanted to... see me?"

"We should give them some privacy," Holly tells her husband. It's clear from Vance's face that he doesn't want to do anything of the sort, but he nods and walks away, Holly in tow.

Ian looks even more frightened after Vance leaves. "So what... what do you want?" His voice is little more than a whisper, and his hands are shaking.

"First things first." Gabriel hands Ian the letter. The boy takes it slowly, still unsure of what's happening. Gabriel watches as the boy's eyes read the words. He hasn't read the letter himself, he's a jerk, not a douche. There likely isn't anything worth reading in the letter anyway. He's got better reading material in his Pip-Boy's memory archives.

Still, some interest is piqued when Ian finishes reading. The boy is close to tears. "She... she really misses me. She's worried... even though she knows what happened. She wants me to come home."

Gabriel's eyes widen. "What?"

Ian looks up at him, a tired smile on his face. "Thank you for bringing this to me. I didn't know it until now, but I know what I have to do."

Gabriel snatches the letter from the boy's hands and reads it over. It's a message, tailored directly from Lucy to her brother. There's no mention of their parents other than the acknowledgement that they are dead. The rest is a plea, a plea for Ian to return home where Lucy can be certain he's safe.

_She's more clever than I give her credit for. She switched out the original letter with this new one and gave it to Jericho for me to pass along. _Gabriel is suddenly aware of what it's like to be used. The feeling is unwanted, but he admires the tact behind it.

Ian looks around nervously. "I... I need to go home. I need to see my sister. I need to make things right with Arefu."

"That would be best. I can take you back there as soon as you're ready."

"Can... can I say goodbye first? These people... they understand me. They took me in. I can't just leave without saying thanks."

Distaste rolls in Gabriel's gut, but he nods his agreement. "I'll be waiting for you outside the entrance. Do what you need to do, but try and be as quick as you can."

Ian nods and rushes down the escalator, Lucy's letter clenched tightly in his hands. Gabriel descends the opposite steps in silence and watches as a crowd of people gather around the boy as he shares his news. They give him travelling clothes, some basic supplies, and a 9mm pistol with some ammo. They ruffle his hair and pat him on the back. A buxom redhead gives Ian a brief but hard kiss on the mouth and the boy turns away, a furious blush on his face. The others laugh with warmth and good nature. Soft, sad smiles are shared by all.

That feeling of disgust rocks Gabriel once more. Who do these people think they are? They're flesh eaters, every one. They shouldn't be so damn-

"Happy," a voice finishes for him. Gabriel turns sharply and sees a figure standing behind him. Vance.

"My Family is happy," Vance continues. "We have our squabbles and our differences, but we are together. We are not the monsters you believe we are. We care for one another. We feel love and sadness. Do you not share the same relationship with your own family?"

Gabriel's hands clench into fists. "I have no family," he mutters.

"Then you have my deepest condolences."

Gabriel rounds on the man. "Don't you dare, you bastard. I don't want your pity."

Vance just stares at him with those cool, silver eyes. "Clearly."

"This isn't over," Gabriel promises. "You're still terrorizing those people in Arefu. We're not done here, not yet."

Vance fixes the younger man with a glare. Goosebumps break out on the back of Gabriel's neck. "I will not apologize for doing what must be done."

Gabriel glares right back. "Neither will I."

Vance is silent as Ian approaches, freshly dressed in his new clothes. A bag of supplies is slung over his shoulder and his pistol rests lightly on his hip. "I wanted to say thanks," Ian tells Meresti's leader. "You saved me. I don't know where'd I'd be without your help."

Vance's stern expression softens into a smile. "I think you will do well out there, Ian West. Though I understand your reasons for leaving, know that you will always have a place in Meresti."

"Thank you. I'll never forget what you did for me." Ian turns to Gabriel. "Well, I guess I'm ready whenever you are."

Gabriel nods and starts walking, not bothering to say anything. Ian trudges along behind, though he stops several times to turn and wave. The Family waves back. It's like a scene from one of those pre-war airports, a family waving goodbye as one of their own leaves for greener pastures.

Thankfully, Ian's incessant questions don't allow Gabriel to dwell too much on the subject of family. "So how do you know my sister?"

"I'm a merc. She hired me for a job."

"You live in Megaton?"

"Yeah."

"You don't like to talk very much, do you?"

"Nope."

Ian stays quiet after that. He and Gabriel pass through the main gate, where Robert grudgingly hands Gabriel's weapons over. Ian looks on, wide eyed, as Gabriel checks his three impressive firearms and secures his grenade belt to his waist. Satisfied that nothing has been broken, he holsters his laser pistol, shoulders Arkansas, and keeps his assault rifle tight in his grip. Waiting only a moment as Ian says a quick goodbye to Robert, the pair descend into the darkness of the metro lines.

Gabriel flicks on his Pip-Boy light and leads Ian back through the mirelurk cave and up the ladder into Murphy's place. Ian winces as he passes the radioactive waste, but Gabriel doesn't show any signs of discomfort. He's practically friends with the stuff now, with all the benefits he gains in exposing himself to it.

Ian follows Gabriel into Murphy's lab. Both he and Barrett look up, surprised. "Didn't think you'd be coming back, smoothskin." There's a light smile on Murphy's face. "Glad to see I was wrong."

"I can feel the love," Gabriel says dryly. "Thanks for warning me about those monsters, by the way."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Must'a slipped my mind. Mirelurks. Nasty things."

"I need a favor, Murphy."

The ghoul scratches his chin. "Depends on the favor." He notices Ian, who's huddling just behind Gabriel's weapon-laden frame. "Is this the kid you were looking for?"

Gabriel nods. "This is Ian. I need to get him back to Arefu, but I have a few things I need to take care of here. I'd appreciate it if you have Barrett escort him there. He's got family waiting for him."

Barrett opens his mouth to protest, but Murphy holds up a hand. "And I'm just supposed to sit here undefended while my bodyguard holds this kid's hand?"

Gabriel takes a seat in an open chair and rests his assault rifle across his lap. "I'll stick around and keep an eye on things until Barrett gets back." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small bag of bottlecaps. "I'll throw in a hundred caps too, if that's more your speed."

Murphy looks at Gabriel, Ian, Barrett and then back to Gabriel again. "Deal, smoothskin. Barrett, get this kid to Arefu in one piece. I mean it."

Barrett grumbles something in response but rises from his seat. "C'mon smoothskin," he rasps at Ian. "I ain't getting any prettier sitting around." Ian nervously follows the ghoul out of the lab. He gives Gabriel a short wave as he leaves, but the Vault-dweller doesn't return the gesture.

Once they've left, Murphy turns to Gabriel. "You're good, smoothskin. Now tell me what the hell you're up to."

Gabriel tosses the bag of caps at Murphy, who catches it with a quick hand. "Something's got to be done, Murphy. I'm not about to let a bunch of psychopaths run free."

Murphy leans forward in his seat and catches Gabriel's gaze with his own. "You didn't fill me in before, smoothskin. Why don't you do it now? Besides, a ghoul should know if there's going to be a war on his friggin' doorstep."

Gabriel sighs and rubs his eyes. He's tired, and not just from the lack of sleep and all the travelling he's been doing. The situation with The Family has him troubled, more so than he'd like to admit. They're people, right?

_Raiders and slavers are people too, Gabe-my-boy. These crazies are no different. Hell, drug-dealing Murphy here has more humanity in his irradiated bones than those bastards did._

Gabriel tells Murphy everything. A he recites the story that had led up to his current predicament, Gabriel finds himself dwelling on Ian's goodbye. The boy claimed that The Family had saved him, that they had somehow spared him from a worse fate. He's reminded of the strange camaraderie that the members of The Family had shared. No blood bonded them to each other, but they were family all the same.

_Family? _The voice in his head sounds as incredulous as it should. _You think those maniacs and man-eaters fit the definition of family? Did we take a bullet to the brain recently? Because if that's the case you should probably get yourself looked at. Those... things back there aren't family. They're a perversion of the word, in the worst sense. They're cannibals, Gabe-my-boy. Nothing more, nothing less._

Gabriel finishes his story and Murphy whistles. "Damn," the ghoul says as he leans back in his seat. "That's a hell of a mess you've gotten yourself into. Wouldn't want to be in your shoes right about now, that's for sure."

The Vault-dweller quietly agrees. Everything up until now has been clean cut. Find raiders, kill raiders. Find atomic bomb, disarm atomic bomb. No gray in either of those. This mess, on the other hand...

"So what's your plan?" Murphy asks. "Your job's done, right? That kid is on his way home, and you managed to avoid getting your ass shot off. I say walk away now and find something else to occupy your time. You don't owe those jackasses at Arefu anything."

Gabriel leans forward in his seat and drums the fingers of his left hand on his right wrist. The ghoul has a point. He doesn't owe Arefu anything. He has no stake in the place, or its people.

"I didn't owe Megaton anything either," Gabriel says quietly. "Didn't stop me from getting involved."

Murphy chuckles and gives himself a spin. "Maybe that's your problem, smoothskin. Maybe you should quit getting involved. Shit's gonna hit the fan anywhere you go. Doesn't have to be your problem."

The ghoul makes a good point. The voice in his head makes a better one.

_Sure, you don't need to get any more involved than you have. But think about it. What kind of person are you if you back out now? You didn't run away from leaving the Vault, that's for sure. Hell, you barely even blinked at that escapade. You saved Megaton, twice. You never gave a rat's ass about getting involved or picking sides. You just did what needed to be done. Don't hesitate now, Gabe-my-boy. It'll get you killed._

And jumping into every risky mess that comes my way won't? Great logic, me.

_No risks, no rewards. You should know that by now._

Gabriel ponders this in silence. Can he really weigh the lives of one group of people over those of another?

Realization hits him so hard it makes him blink. He knows what he has to do.

The human and the ghoul sit in silence as they wait for Barrett to return. Murphy doesn't push the matter any further, something Gabriel is thankful for. When the bodyguard shuffles through the doorway half an hour later, Gabriel rises from his seat and heads toward the storage room and its manhole.

Murphy's voice drifts after him. "You know what you're getting into, kid?"

Gabriel doesn't look back. "Pretty sure, yeah."

"Be careful, at least. You ain't bad company, for a smoothskin."

Silence as his answer, Gabriel closes the door behind him. The manhole awaits, as well as the radioactive barrels just behind it.

His Geiger-counter ticks.

Standing there, Gabriel stares at the toxic waste for a long time.

* * *

"You're sure he was working for... for _Him?_"

Holly's voice is strained as she watches her husband pace furiously. He's got everyone on edge, even Brianna, who never seems to be worried about anything except for her next fuck session.

"There is no doubt," he mutters. Sweat beads along his brown and Holly can see how his left eye twitches. "Sending the boy home will buy us time, but we must ready ourselves. We must be prepared. This is not over. He will return. He said so himself. He is a dog, off of his leash. He's not done until his thirst has been sated. It's almost the Hunger. Almost. More refined. Deeper, more insidious. He has no idea. No idea..."

Holly reaches out and places a hand on her husband's cheek. "Vance, calm down. He's just one man. Gabriel can't-"

"He'll destroy us!" Vance shouts, almost hysterical. Holly recoils in fear, but Vance grabs her by the shoulders. His fingers dig into her skin and she squeals in pain. His earlier composure has been shattered. The throb of _His_ presence hangs in the air like a pulsing vein.

"He'll kill us, all of us! He's the end of all things! We're grains of sand against the tide! Nothing can stop him! He is death! All the sins of the old world are his throne, and he comes now to collect his debt!" Vance releases his hold on his wife and falls to his knees, a blubbering, sobbing mess. "Oh God, why? Why did I accept? Why did I strike such a deal?" His teary gaze turns up and fixes itself on Holly's fearful face.

"Run," he pleads. "My love, you must run. What comes cannot be stopped, not by me. I love you too much. I will not allow you to suffer my fate."

Vance rises and looks at the others. Alan. Justin. Karl. Brianna. They're looking at him with a mixture of fear and trepidation. He loves them. Heaven help him, he loves his family.

"Please," he rasps, tears falling freely from his eyes, "Please, flee. Do not sacrifice yourselves for my sins. Go from this place. I beg you."

Silence follows his request. They cast fearful glances at each other, unsure of what to do.

"Fuck that shit."

All eyes turn to Karl. "I ain't going anywhere," the shopkeep declares. "I got too much stock in this place for me to just up and leave. If this Gabriel punk wants you, he'll have to go through me."

"And me," Alan says, pulling back the slide of his assault rifle.

"Me too," Justin pipes in.

"Don't forget me," Brianna coos. She yanks a 10mm pistol from her belt and waves it in a coquettish manner.

"Or me," Holly whispers. She looks into the tear-streaked lines of her husband's face. "I'm not going anywhere. We're family, all of us. Family fights till the end." She steps closer and wipes Vance's building tears away with her thumb. "And I'm not leaving you. Not now, not ever." Tears build on her face, but she doesn't rub them away.

"You and me," she says with a smile, "we're the same."

Then, and without any hesitation, she pulls herself into his arms and kisses him deep.

* * *

Robert curses aloud and tosses another empty Nuka-Cola bottle into a nearby bin. Glass shatters upon impact. He really hates guard duty, sometimes.

Not that he'll ever deny Vance. No, the two share way too much history for him to just up and leave. The bonds of mercenaries are forged in blood, as the saying goes. Even now, years after that part of their lives has past, Robert continues to help his friend. Cannibal or not, Robert knows at heart that Vance is a good man. The Family is good people, despite what they are.

He huffs and walks over to the ham radio, ready to voice in another status report to the others.

Something behind him makes a noise.

Robert turns, reaching for his SMG. A silenced round coughs out of the tunnel and takes his head off.

Striding out of the darkness, Gabriel injects himself with a dose of Med-X. "Gonna make me a mess," he says with a drawl. Arkansas is cradled in his arms.

"Make me a mess, yes indeed."

* * *

Vance's eyes go wide for a moment, but he composes himself quickly. "He's here. He's coming."

Karl curses and smacks the ham radio he's working on. "Robert's gone dark. I can't get a signal from his end."

"He's dead," Vance says quietly. "Ready yourselves. He has bought us a warning with his life."

The others, frightened but determined, take position behind cover. Alan and Justin train their assault rifles on the entrance to Meresti. Karl's combat shotgun is ready in his grip. Holly and Brianna, their pistols in hand, take position behind a metal table that's been turned on its side.

In the center of the room stands Vance. His shishkebab is in his right hand, blazing with heat. Vampire's edge, always cool to the touch, is gripped tightly in his left. This is it. The final stand of Meresti.

He glances over and sees Holly looking up at him. Despite everything, a smile catches the edges of his mouth. She smiles back and mouths three words.

_I love you._

Vance is about to mimic her gesture when the station lights go out.

His eyes adjust instantly, but Vance can hear the curses as his family is blinded. "Down!" he screams, fear tinging his voice. "Down, quickly!"

The warning comes too late for Karl, who is lifted off his feet as a shot tears the left side of his face off. Vance howls in anger and charges down the tunnel. Even in the darkness, he can see the killer. The emissary of death is crouched low at the end of the tunnel, a silenced sniper rifle in hand. Gunfire blazes around Vance in support, but every shot seems to miss. The figure ignores the retaliation and fires again. Vance tenses slightly as he expects the shot to cut into him, but he's not the target. Behind him, Vance hears Brianna's dying scream.

He closes the distance, spurred forward by his rage. The figure, its unkempt black hair drifting over its eyes, fires a third shot. The chatter of an assault rifle is cut off in mid-burst. Alan or Justin has been taken from him.

Vance reaches the killer and swings both of his blades in a vicious arc. The man dances out of reach a fraction before the blades strike and drops his sniper rifle to the ground. A fist swings out to catch Vance in the chest, but The Family's leader ducks low under the strike. The flashing blade of a combat knife almost sticks itself into his throat, but Vance deflects it with Vampire's edge.

He trades blow after blow with the instigator, snarling and cursing all the while. His opponent remains silent throughout the exchange. Though Vance is a skilled fighter, the instigator is more than competent enough to dodge and deflect Vance's attacks. Meresti's protector doesn't give the killer a moment's opening, however. Every strike aimed for Vance is knocked away. They're on even footing, though Vance's arms are starting to tire.

Vance is aware that the gunfire has stopped. He's too close to the enemy for them to support him. Realizing that he can't fight alone for much longer, Vance jumps away from the melee and shouts for his remaining family to open fire. A rifle and Holly's .45 split the air.

The instigator dives out of the way, but Vance is certain that he can hear the muffled gasps of gunfire reaching its target. He's about to close in when a grenade clatters to his feet.

"Damn you!" Vance shouts.

He turns and leaps just as the grenade goes off. The blast sends him flying back into the mouth of the tunnel. He hits the ground hard and blood flies out between his teeth. The pain is beyond words.

He can hear the sounds of a nearby struggle. He manages to turn his head.

Alan, dear, faithful Alan, yells a challenge and charges the instigator with the bayonet at the end of his rifle. The clumsy blow is easy deflected, and Vance watches helplessly as Alan's throat is slit by a flashing knife. The young man falls to his knees and clutches his neck. Blood pours out from between his fingers. He gasps once as he falls to the ground. After a moment of weak spasms, Alan goes still.

All of them. Dead. All of them, save-

"Holly," he whispers.

He watches as Holly, sweet, beautiful Holly, runs to his side. Sobbing, she tries to lift him up. She's covered in Brianna's blood.

Vance reaches for her face, trying to brush the tears away. "Run," he rasps. "Please."

Still sobbing, she shakes her head. He knows in his heart that she'll never leave him. She'll always follow him, even into the depths of hell.

The crunch of nearby footsteps prompts Vance to turn his head. The killer, the murderer, the damned _instigator_, is approaching. There's a laser pistol in his left hand. He raises it and points it squarely at Vance's head.

"Take me," he whispers. "Take me, but spare her. Please."

The figure seems to ponder Vance's suggestion. Vance closes his eyes. She'll be okay. She'll live. That's all he wants.

His eyes open when Holly snarls and fires the last round in her pistol. It crashes into the killer's shoulder and forces him back a step. Vance struggles to rise, to push his beloved out of the way. He's so slow. So dreadfully slow.

The instigator fires his weapon and Holly vanishes in a blast of red light.

No.

Vance rises as the ashes of his wife flutter around him. His hands find Vampire's Edge and his shishkebab. He pulls himself up and runs. Every bone in his body protests. Every muscle aches. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. She's gone, so his life is no longer worth living.

His attack is unanticipated and Vampire's Edge slices into the killer's chest. Vance can feel the rush of air as his opponent is impaled on the hungry blade. He brings his right and down to finish the bastard with his shishkebab.

A hand, encased in a power fist, catches his arm and crushes it.

Vance lacks the strength to scream. His shishkebab falls from his grip. His eyes find those of his wife's murderer. The blue orbs appraise him with anger and pain. The air is knocked from Vance's lungs as he's tossed aside like a rag doll.

His vision blurred, Vance watches as the instigator rips Vampire's Edge from his chest and tosses the sword aside in disgust. There's no way that anyone could survive a blow like that, not unless they were no longer human.

Gabriel Matthews, his eyes blazing with unholy fury, raises his laser pistol. A lance of energy screams out of the weapon and impacts against Vance's chest.

The first shot isn't enough to kill him. It takes four more. Between each squeeze of the trigger, Vance sees the smiling face of his wife, his family. They're calling out to him, off in the distance. Tears well in his eyes.

In the end, Vance doesn't see his killer or the shot that kills him. He sees his family, beckoning him home.

Vance goes gladly.

He doesn't want to keep them waiting.

* * *

_"Excellent."_

_He breathes it in, the stink of death. It's satisfying beyond words._

_He opens his hand under the darkening sky. There's a chess piece in it, a single, white pawn. He gazes at it for a brief moment before crushing it into dust._

_"You have served your purpose, Vance-my-boy. You were irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but I thank you for your sacrifice. Perhaps I will remember you after all is said and done. You were so proud, always so damned proud."_

_He stares into the dying sun. It will be a new day soon, one filled with possibility and promise._

_A feral grin splits his face. "But you forgot the most important lesson, Vance-my-boy."_

_"Pride comes before a fall."_

* * *

Murphy looks up as Gabriel stumbles into his lab space, a large bag in his arms. Without a word the smoothskin dumps the bag's contents onto his desk.

"Here's your Sugar Bombs," Gabriel says tiredly. Murphy gawks.

Without waiting for permission, the man who slaughtered The Family collapses into a nearby chair and passes out.

* * *

**LM here,**

**So this is super late. My apologies. Blame two things: One, my usual ineptitude at keeping up with my writing. Two: I discovered a wonderful little anime called Spice and Wolf. I am such a sucker.**

**Okay, so this one is officially the longest chapter I've ever written. Like ever. Over 26 thousand words. It's huge. So much happened here it's not even funny. I'll refrain from recapping everything, as there's simply too much to even bother going over the details.**

**Sarah's interaction with Rothchild was probably my favorite part of this chapter, right up there with Lucy and Simms. I think I'm going to do more of that, two characters having a conversation in order to discuss events that are going on. I like the way it adds context without being boring.**

**No matter which way I looked at it, The Family had to die. I tried, I really did, to see if Gabriel would go with the good-guy solution on this one. It didn't happen. RIP, Vance and Holly. I had tears in my eyes when Gabriel killed them.**

**Anyway, here's me hoping you enjoyed it. Post a review, it doesn't take a lot of time and I really enjoy hearing your feedback.**

**Levi Matthews**

**PS. I hate radscorpions. You know why.**


	9. A Taste of Fear

A Taste of Fear

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Fallout 3 or anything from the Fallout series. All credit for this story goes the the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Finished Symphony by Hybrid (the Deadmau5 remix). God Bless God Bless Hybrid and Deadmau5.**

* * *

A glimpse of the future:

* * *

_It's just the two of them in the Den for a change, a welcome reprieve from Pride's teasing. She's dressed in her casuals, a white tank-top and grey sweatpants. He's opted to leave his duster on the coat rack today, seeing as he's got a deep patrol later in the afternoon. Sarah wonders if anyone can look as good in combat armor as he does._

_"I heard a rumor about a nest of deathclaws and some Enclave tech to the northwest," he tells her as he checks over his laser pistol. The weapon and its ammo are sitting on the table between them. "Going to see if there's any truth to it. If there's tech, great. If there isn't, well, at least I'll clear out a den of those monsters."_

_"Deathclaws. And that doesn't make you nervous?"_

_He shakes his head and smiles, his gaze never leaving hers. "Not even close. A little trepidation when I killed my first one, of course, but after that it was clockwork, just like anything else. Besides, I've got my knife. Nothing can stand against me."_

_"I have a hard time believing that you're not afraid of deathclaws."_

_He grins at her and leans forward in his seat, setting his pistol down on the table. "You won't find anything in this Wasteland that I'm afraid of, Sarah Lyons."_

_"I know you're afraid of mirelurks."_

_Gabriel laughs. "Not in the slightest. Who have you been listening to, Three Dog? He always embellishes those little stories he begs from me. I crushed the first mirelurk I fought with a power fist, Sarah. I was alone and in a dark cave. If a mirelurk didn't scare me then one sure as hell won't scare me now."_

_Sarah scowls at him and tries to think of something else. "Drowning."_

_"Nope. Had no fear of water when I was a kid, no fear of it now. Next."_

_"Radscorpions. The big ones." _

_"Frustration. They were a pain to kill the first time I came across them. Still are, for that matter. But I've been killing bugs since my 10th birthday. I knew what to expect."_

_"They're not bugs, they're arachnids, as you so love to remind me."_

_"Insect is an insect, arachnid is an arachnid. They're all bugs to me, Sarah. Skeletons on the outside."_

_"Fine. Yao Guai?"_

_"No fear, but a hell of a surprise when my first one almost got the drop on me. Had to use my knife to kill it. Didn't I tell you that story?"_

_Sarah pouts and rests her chin in her hands. "I give up."_

_He grins again and runs a soft hand across her cheek. "Giving up? Who are you and what have you done with my Sarah?"_

_She growls a little and knocks his hand away playfully. "I know when I'm beat, you ass. You're not afraid of anything."_

_ Gabriel's smile fades and he looks away. "Not true. The things I'm afraid of are just a little more abstract, that's all. I'm not afraid to die, but that doesn't mean I don't feel fear."_

_She reaches across the table and takes on of his hands in hers. The lacing of their fingers is instinctive. "I'd like to believe you can talk to me, Love. I won't pry if you don't want-"_

_"It's okay," he tells her. "I like it when you pry." He turns and gives her a reassuring smile. "I'm only afraid of a couple of things, and that means Gallows still has me beat. At least as far as being a scary bastard goes."_

_She laughs and everything in his world is good. "So... what are you afraid of?"_

_"Losing you," he says simply. "That's at the top of my list. A few other people are in that group, but you come first."_

_She tightens her grip in his, but she doesn't say anything. She lets him continue when he's ready. He does, but only after a moment of worrying silence._

_"I can't remember feeling a lot of fear until I realized just how much I care about you. But... well, there was one time-"_

_"Just one?"_

_"One that I can remember, and I remember it vividly." _

_He turns and fixes her with a serious look, the one that he gets just before going into a combat zone. "Sarah," he begins, his voice somewhat strained._

_"Did I ever tell you about Vault 106?"_

* * *

The present:

* * *

Meresti is still dark when Gabriel returns to scavenge. The emergency wiring is still cut, and he doesn't have the equipment or the want to fix it. He slinks through the dark tunnels, his Pip-Boy bathing everything nearby in a sickly green light.

He hates the glow. The colored light had been useful in the Vault, as it complemented the metal of its walls. He's not in a Vault anymore. Gabriel stops, makes a few adjustments to the wrist computer and gives it a hard reset. Darkness swallows him up as he waits for the program to restart itself. A few moments and a startup chime later and Gabriel's Pip-Boy light is a soft white. Simple. The computer screen is still the same color it's always been, that soft green, but at least the glow won't make him sick now.

The fight has been over for a few hours. Spilled blood has congealed and stilled. He sees that a few radroaches have already begun to work the corpses over. All but Vance. The radroaches haven't touched the man.

Seeing the man, even dead, is enough to make Gabriel shiver. He remembers just how close to death he had come. He remembers looks of fear, of brutal killings and executions. Gabriel busies himself with scavenging so he can distract himself from the memories. The work, though grim, serves to keep his mind off of what he's done, if only for a short time. He discovers a pallet jack and stacks his findings on the large, wheeled cart. He secures everything down with a few links of metal chain and an old green tarp. Thirsty, the young wanderer takes a sip from his water bottle before wiping the excess liquid off on his sleeve. He looks around the dark and empty dwelling and sighs. His hands are dry, but they feel like they're dripping blood.

Later, once he works up the nerve, Gabriel burns the bodies.

It's difficult. Every movement hurts, from bending down to lift the bodies off the ground to dumping them on the pyre he's started in the middle of what had been The Family's common area. He almost goes into a rage when he realizes that he has to carry Robert's headless corpse all the way to the pyre from the guard station. He's still exhausted, and the pain of being shot and stabbed is still very much present. The bullet wounds were superficial things. The few that managed to get past his armor hit non-vital areas, but they still required removing. The shoulder shot had been the worst. The bullet from Holly's .45 had taken a good chuck of shoulder bone with it when it had left his body. His advanced healing had sealed the holes tight with new flesh and created new bone, but it was only with Murphy's help that Gabriel was able to get the metal out of his body.

The sword Vance had put through his chest? That's another story.

Gabriel is glad for one thing, at least. His foresight had given him the idea to irradiate himself before his battle with the Family. With over 400 rads in his system, Gabriel has discovered that his healing powers are greatly enhanced. It's also left him feeling weaker than usual after a strenuous fight. He's made up his mind that he won't do it often, at least not unless it's necessary.

Still, his chest hurts when he exerts himself. The radiation's been flushed from his system with the help of a few doses of Rad-Away, and Gabriel suspects that his body has resorted to naturally healing the dying end of his internal injuries.

The smell of the pyre and the cooking corpses wrinkles his nose. Gabriel does his best to ignore it. The corpses of The Family are burning with fierce rapidity. He's somewhat relieved that he doesn't have to burn Holly's body. He certainly doesn't want to burn Vance.

Is does he hesitation out of respect? No, he can't respect the dead. Regret? He's tossed that emotion aside like the unwanted garbage it is.

Right?

Gabriel sighs and walks away from the fire, running his fingers through his messy hair. He's never been this conflicted. Not once. Not in the Vault, not while saving Megaton, not ever. Everything in his life has been simple cause and effect. Risks lead to rewards. And he's gotten a huge reward, hasn't he? Meresti is filled with all kinds of valuables, even some old pre-war tech that will help with his experiments. Not to mention all the currency, ammunition, supplies, weapons...

Gabriel's thoughts drift to Vance's sword and he sees the blade itself lying nearby. Just looking at it makes his chest itch. God, the _pain_ that had ripped through him when Vance had impaled the sword through him.

The pain had been unimaginable, more than anything he had ever experienced. Every pain receptor in his body had gone alight with fire. The Med-X he'd taken before the fight hadn't helped in the slightest. There was simply no blocking out that kind of agony.

But something in him had reacted. Something that, when it took over him, made Gabriel yank a sword from his bleeding chest and ignore the wound like it was a minor annoyance. That... sensation, had discarded his pain and snapped Vance's arm in a power-fisted grip before gunning him down in cold blood.

Gabriel shivers at the memory. It hasn't been the first time he's felt disconnected from his actions. There was his brutal and murderous departure from the Vault to consider, along with that time with the Talon Company mercs and the pulse grenade. Hell, his little stunt with his knife and Lucy wasn't all him either. He'd been prepared to just say a few harsh words and walk away. Then she had gotten attached, offered to help him, offered herself in support. Something inside of him hadn't liked that. Something in him had pulled a knife on an unarmed girl and spat hateful words at her. Gabriel knows he's a changed person, and not for the better.

He looks down at Vance's body. Several burnt holes in the man's chest glare at him. Gabriel unconsciously moves his left hand away from the laser pistol at his hip. He's taken to wearing the sidearm on his non-dominant hand. Leaves his right hand free to use Fisto! if needed.

He reaches down to lift the corpse off the ground, but something stops him short. Gabriel can't really describe the feeling of unease that itches between his shoulder blades. It's the same itch he gets in his chest when he looks on the sword that had nearly killed him. Would have. Should have.

Frowning, Gabriel leaves Vance's body alone. He doesn't even bother checking the man's pockets. Strange. His short but extremely influential training from Wolfgang screams at him to pick over the dead like a carrion bird. It sounds distasteful, but that's just the way the Wasteland works. It's a survival instinct, one that Gabriel is more than willing to embrace. Well, except now.

Gabriel takes a seat in a nearby chair, the flames of the nearby pyre flickering across his troubled face. "Why can't I go near you?" he wonders aloud. None of the others have affected him like this. Hell, even the guy with half his face missing hadn't bothered him like Vance's cold corpse is doing now. He had picked them all over, discarding most of their weapons into a pile of things to sell, save for Holly's Colt .45. A powerful backup weapon, the large, well-maintained handgun rests in a holster strapped just under his right armpit.

He sighs and looks himself over. He's covered in weapons. Is this what Gabriel Matthews is? A mercenary? Someone who kills for profit? A soulless machine who works only for his own needs and ignores others unless they can provide compensation?

The idea should disgust him, much like Vance's take on cannibalism. Yet, despite everything that has happened over the last few days, Gabriel finds a small bit of comfort in the concept. He's not like others, not in the slightest. His brain functions on a different plane. He's cold, analytical, and ruthless to the point of brutal. Most of his emotions have been cast aside.

Still, at the end of the day, he's human. Well, sort of. He's more than that now, something that spits in the face of human weaknesses and embraces its strengths. His regenerative abilities are just the start. Once he's done with Alpha, he'll-

Gabriel shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "What am I doing?" he mutters. "Sitting around like an idiot. Move, Matthews. You've got more important shit to do."

But he doesn't rise from his seat. Against his wishes, Gabriel's eyes flicker to Vance's nearby sword. The blade glows dully in the firelight.

_Why did you rush me like that? _Gabriel wonders, remembering Vance's charge. The wanderer doesn't frighten easily, but the sight of that figure, a long blade in one hand and a shorter flaming blade in the other, has given him pause more than once since actually... well, killing him. Gabriel had nearly lost his cool when Vance rushed him in the tunnels. It hadn't been the swords, not just the swords, at least. No, the fear had come from Vance's eyes in the darkness. They had blazed with a light that Gabriel is all too familiar with. He hasn't seen it on himself, but Gabriel knows it's the look on his face when the scientist takes over. Cold. Merciless. Unforgiving.

"It doesn't make any sense," he mutters. "He should've stayed back, let his cronies gun at me. Hell, that's what I would have done. Use them as cannon fodder to wear me down, then go for the kill. Anybody would have been able to figure that out. Why didn't he?"

Vance had made himself an easy target. Vance had known, somehow, just how capable a killer Gabriel was. He had attempted to save his people, his Faimly, by throwing himself into the fray.

Gabriel's voice catches in his throat. "And I annihilated them."

Cutting the electrical wires that powered the backup generator had been a good idea. It had offered a moment of brief advantage over The Family's superior numbers. The gunplay that had followed had been pretty straightforward, distance with the sniper rifle until Vance had closed in. From there it had dissolved into a frenzied fight for his life, one that he had nearly lost. Without his grenades and Fisto! to back him up, Gabriel is sure that he would have been killed.

He remembers Vance's declaration of what it means to love and be happy, to be family. A tinge of want flows through him. For the briefest moment, Gabriel misses his old life in Vault 101. The girl. The father. The warm faces of those he had spent his entire life living around. There's something... well, it's comforting. It's normal.

Gabriel sighs and rubs his forehead. There's no point in dwelling on the past, not when the future is as uncertain as it's ever been.

It's strange. His position on what Vance was hasn't changed, but he can't help but think of what would have happened had he stayed and spoken with the man for longer. Would five more minutes of conversation have changed things? Ten? A half-hour talking with someone can lead to many things, not that Gabriel has maintained a decent conversation since leaving the Vault. Storytelling in a bar and cryptic exchanges of information with relatively unintelligent people don't count. Okay, they're not unintelligent. They're just not as smart as he is.

Unbidden, Gabriel's thoughts turn to his new life, the life he's made for himself in the Wasteland. What has he done with himself since leaving the Vault? Saved a bunch of post-apocalyptic wretches. Threatened a few people. Slept with a cute girl a few times then kicked her to the curb. He's got a lab, a robot and a mess of guns. What more could any young man ask for?

Except it's not enough. No, Gabriel doesn't feel like he's accomplished anything. Not a thing. He's already done more in a few weeks that what most people do in their entire lives, yet he can't find any satisfaction in it. He knows what the lives of others are worth to him, and it's next to nothing.

He finally brings himself to walk over to Vance's corpse. The eyes are closed, something he doesn't remember doing. Maybe they closed on their own. Gabriel is somewhat relieved. The body is somehow easier to deal with.

He stoops and slowly lifts Vance off the ground. The body is strangely light in his arms, even though he was every bit Gabriel's physical and muscular equal. He slowly takes it over to the pyre and, with a calm sort of reverence, places Vance into the flames.

He's engulfed almost instantly, all the dirt and grime and oil that had been Vance is very flammable. Gabriel watches for a moment before he sighs and rubs his nose. The smell of burning flesh is starting to get to him.

He turns to walk away from the pyre but stops short. Vance's sword. The polished blade glows orange in the firelight. Gabriel walks over and lifts the blade off the ground. The weapon is an old Chinese Officer's sword, a dragon's head carved into the hilt. It's about as long as his arm and made of tough, lightweight metals. It's too long to be a bayonet. No, this is a weapon meant for leaders, for an officer who brandishes a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Flamboyant and stupid. That's the sort of person that this weapon was crafted for.

Vance had been neither of those things. Well, perhaps a little showy, but never stupid. Not really showy, either. Sure of himself. Sure of his cause. Sure of his Family.

Gabriel looks at the weapon in his hands, the weapon that had nearly taken his life. He's overloaded with killing tools already. He can't afford to carry any more.

Without a second thought, he throws the sword into the fire.

Turning away from the blaze, Gabriel wraps his fingers around the metal steering handle of the pallet jack and begins pushing the cart toward the tunnel entrance. He can hear the crackle of the fire behind him and the skittering of the radroaches as they skirt the darkness. Gabriel hits the activation switch for his Pip-Boy to light his way. He leaves Meresti for the third and final time.

When he reaches the surface, he realizes how late it is. The sun is dying, and it's dark before Gabriel returns to Murphy's for the night.

* * *

"That's a fuckton of supplies, smoothskin," Murphy croaks.

Gabriel huffs and leans against the pallet-jack's worn handle. "You're telling me," he says after he catches his breath. "I couldn't bring all this stuff back using the shortcut under your place, so I had to wheel them out the back way. Took me almost two hours to get back here, and I had to deal with a pack of wild dogs on the way."

"Be glad it was just dogs. Yao Guai would've seen you as an easy snack. Take a seat before you pass out."

For the second time in less than a day, Gabriel slumps into a spare chair that Murphy has found for him. Barrett, still radiating a decent amount of hostility, glowers at the human and puffs on a slightly bent cigarette. Gabriel's actually grateful for the company; he's around people who aren't trying to kill him and he's exhausted. It's nice to feel a little security, even if he's still somewhat on his guard.

"What the hell are you going to do with all this crap?" Murphy asks as he stares at the pile of supplies. There's a small wasteland fortune sitting on the pallet jack, and that's not including the guns.

Gabriel pulls his canteen out of his armor and takes a long drink of water from it. "Gonna wheel this crap to Megaton, then-" He cuts off as he remembers his temporary exile. "Oh god damn it..."

Murphy and Barrett share a look as the human smacks himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Can't go back there for another five days," he says, obviously dismayed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with all this junk?"

"Well," Murphy says with a grin, "If you're feeling generous, I'm sure I can take some of this weight off your shoulders." Even Barrett laughs a little at that one.

The ghost of a smile touches on Gabriel's lips before fading away just as quickly. "I don't really... shit, Megaton was my only option. I don't have anywhere else to keep this crap."

"You can't drop it off with those smoothskins in Arefu? Seems to me like the owe you one."

Gabriel shakes his head. "Can't. Burned some bridges last time I was there. I'm not going back. Not anytime soon, anyway."

Murphy scratches his chin with a rotted hand and shrugs. "You need a place to stay, right? Hell, we've got a spare cot and some space in the storage room. Long as you don't mind sharing a room at night, you're welcome to stay here until you can go join your smoothskin friends in that city of yours."

Gabriel tries his best to hide his surprise, but his widening eyes give him away. "You'd do that?"

Murphy nods, indifferent to the glare he can see Barrett giving him. "Smoothskin, you've done more for me than most _ghouls_ ever have." A grunt from Barrett cuts him off and Murphy shrugs. "Except Barry, of course. That goes without saying."

Gabriel leans forward in his seat. He's not about to turn the offer away, but the questions still need to be asked. "You hardly know me, Murphy. You know what I'm capable of, what I did to The Family. What assurance do you have that I won't do the same to you?"

Murphy pushes his glasses back onto what's left of his nose while Barrett growls. "I don't have any," Murphy admits, shrugging. "But I do know that a favor is a favor, and that favors are more valuable than caps out here." He thumbs over his shoulder at the pile of Sugar Bomb boxes that Barrett has stacked into a corner of the lab space. "You brought me enough raw material to keep me busy for years. Giving you a place to sleep and store your shit for a few days is the least I can do." The ghoul rasps laughter. "I sure as hell can't pay you for all this cereal right now, not with the amount you've brought me."

"Fair enough," the wanderer replies. "Thanks."

"I should be thanking you, smoothskin. You did a good thing for me and Barry, though he'll never admit it. You ever need anything, chems or favors, you just ask."

Gabriel allows himself to relax. A wave of tiredness washes over him and he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open. "I think I'm going to take up that offer on the cot," he says groggily. "Fuckin' tired as fuck."

Murphy nods at Barrett. "Show him the spare, Barry. And don't you go and kill him or anything."

Barrett grumbles his assent and gestures Gabriel to follow him into what was once a restroom. Unsteady on his feet, Gabriel all but collapses into the cot that the ghoul points at. The mattress is thin and uncomfortable, but Gabriel doesn't care. Sleep washes over him almost instantly.

For the first time in days, the nightmares don't come for him.

* * *

"Can't sleep?"

Sarah doesn't shift her gaze from the night sky. "Not tired." She's in the Bailey, leaning against a wall and wearing a white tanktop and grey sweatpants. She's barefoot, something she doesn't do too often. The cold of the concrete beneath her toes is relaxing. The night air is chilly, but not unpleasant.

Greg nods and leans against the wall next to the Sentinel. He's wearing his recon armor, minus the helmet. Sarah can't remember the last time she's seen him without armor. Greg's always been the prepared one, ready for anything.

"What're you doing up?" she asks. "We've got a road-clearing job to Rivet City tomorrow with the hopefuls. Thought you of all people would be trying to get some decent rest."

Greg shrugs and looks up at the sky. "Restless. Was gonna do a few laps around the Bailey to tire myself out. Saw you and figured I'd see what was up."

Sarah shoots her subordinate a sidelong glance. "Thanks for the concern, Greg. I'm fine. Just enjoying the quiet, you know?"

"Yeah, I hear you." A strange look crosses Greg's face. "Can't hear any gunshots. Weird."

Sarah manages a small smile. "It's been like that for almost an hour. It's a nice change of pace."

Greg nods and lets the silence fill the air. The childhood friends stare up at the sky together, soft smiles on their faces. The stars wink down at them through the dusty air.

A chuckle from Greg cuts the silence. "Lemme guess, this is the part where I say something romantic and sappy, right?"

Sarah gives him a playful elbow. "Shut up," she says, grinning. "As if. That'd be creepy. You're practically my brother."

Greg curls up in mock pain. "Oh how you wound me, Sentinel."

"I'm about to," she retorts. "Besides, I know for a fact that you'll never be interested in me like that."

Greg straightens and gives her a toothy grin. "And what makes you say that?"

"The fact that you've told me yourself. Oh, and if that wasn't enough, I've seen the way you look at Scribe Valincourt."

Greg smiles and looks up at the sky. "She has no idea how pretty she is. Redheads, Sarah. Damn."

Sarah just laughs, warm and genuine. After a moment, Greg joins her. The two laugh until they're clutching their sides in pain. It's good to just let go of the rigid military stuff for a moment, even if it's just a brief one.

Sarah pulls herself together and sees Gallows walking out of the doors to A Ring, wearing full armor and cradling his laser rifle in his arms. His pistol sits in a holster at his hip. He walks slowly, silently, toward the main gate. Sarah and Greg watch him go, their faces still red with laughter. Gallows gives his squadmates an almost imperceptible nod as he passes, one which Sarah returns. The Knight-Captain disappears through the doors to the gate, and it's suddenly as though the man hadn't existed in the first place.

Greg whistles. "Not gonna lie, Sentinel. Sometimes Gallows scares the living piss out of me."

Sarah silently agrees. She trusts Gallows as much as she trusts anyone in the Pride, maybe even a little more than some, but there's something about him that makes her go cold at times. He's something more lethal than any human can be. At best, it's disconcerting.

Thankfully, Greg changes the subject. "So how do you think the newbies are going to do tomorrow, Sentinel? Think Redding and Jennings are up for it?"

Sarah shrugs. "We'll see. Redding's got some skill and she knows it, but she's overconfident. I'm hoping Jennings pulls it off, the kid has a good head on his shoulders, but he's got a lot to learn."

A chuckle escapes Greg's mouth. "Since when don't they have a lot to learn? Jesus, just because Gunny is a scary hardass doesn't mean that they'll be able to jump into the mix and not get a few scratches. Hell, remember that time when Cleric-"

Sarah turns to look at the Paladin and sees the grieved expression on his face. "Shit," the man mutters as he shifts his gaze to his boots. "Sorry, Sentinel. Didn't mean to-"

"It's okay Greg," she says quietly.

Cleric was the Pride's first real casualty. The original members are all still present, with Dusk being the most recent one to pass her trial. Only the best Initiates are ever chosen to join the ranks, and only two of them had ever managed to survive long enough to become a member. Cain had joined the Pride over two years ago, the first successful Initiate to enter the ranks. Being the first to do anything garners a lot of attention, and high expectations had been placed on the man who only months before had been a caravan guard. As a group, the Pride had groomed Cain into one of the Brotherhood's most respected soldiers. Dusk had followed about a year later, giving the Pride another fighting edge. With a confidence and strength that only Sarah could inspire, the Pride had begun to make swift headway into the DC ruins and outlying Wasteland areas.

Then Cain had died, the first of many setbacks for Sarah and her Pride.

"It's hard," she admits. "I'll wake up and expect him to be there, next to me. Or I'll be ready to give him an order and remember that he's gone."

Greg places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand what you're going through, but the rest of us are here for you if you need it."

Sarah sighs and looks back up at the sky. "I'm not going to let this get to me, Greg."

"You cared about him, Sentinel. Nobody would blame you if you needed some more time off."

She frowns. "Doesn't matter. I'd blame myself for taking the easy way out."

"Do you always have to be stronger than everyone?" Greg asks quietly.

"Yes, Greg. You know that."

The conversation ends there. Greg lingers for a moment longer before saluting and disappearing back into A-Ring. Sarah's alone with her thoughts once more.

"I miss you," she says to the stars.

Whether they're looking down on her with pity or understanding, she can't tell.

* * *

"Forty-seven."

Gabriel, naked from the waist up, does another push up over the dirty cot.

"Forty-eight."

Murphy and Barrett are arguing in the next room. The door's shut and he can't quite make out the words because of the ghoulish rasping, but the tones are obviously heated.

"Forty-nine."

His movements are precise and effortless. Living in the Wasteland has conditioned him quickly. Not to imply he didn't keep himself fit while living in the Vault, but a sedentary lifestyle isn't conducive to surviving in hostile environment.

"Fifty."

Gabriel pulls himself up. He's not even close to breaking a sweat, even after his set of fifty. He can do more, but it's not worth overexerting himself, especially considering that he's still sore from yesterday's activities. It's just past 5 A.M. and Gabriel wants to get the day started, even if he's not sure of what he'll be doing.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he mutters as he yanks a faded black t-shirt over his head. A fresh change of clothes is out of the question, considering everything is back at Megaton. Hell, in the Wasteland, fresh is a state of mind and nothing else. He spends a moment dressing into his armor and then goes over his weapons one by one, making sure that each is in working order before strapping them to his person. Holly's .45 is the last to be checked. The weapon is in remarkable condition despite all of its moving parts and weathered textures. He's got a trio of spare clips for the weapon in addition to the one slotted inside the pistol itself. Each clip holds seven rounds and each round is nearly the size of his thumb. The stopping power of the pistol is immense, something Gabriel knows firsthand. His left shoulder itches at the memory of Holly's last shot.

He brushes that memory aside like a bad odor and steps out of the bathroom, his assault rifle in hand and his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He spots Murphy and Barrett, arguing once again, over by the door to the station proper. Gabriel tunes them out and pulls his breakfast out of his pack and sets it on a nearby table. A box of Dandy Boy Apples and a couple of jerky strips isn't the most appetizing start to a day, but he needs the energy. Any lack of wanted flavor is washed away in the swing of water he drinks from his canteen. He'll need to refill it soon. Thankfully, he's got a few disposable bottles of purified water in his bag.

Gabriel is finishing his meal when Barrett stomps past him, a scowl on his rotted features. The ghoul stomps into the bathroom/sleeping area and slams the door behind him. Gabriel turns and sees Murphy, an unhappy look on the ghoul's face.

"Sometimes I almost hate him," Murphy mutters. "He's not a big-picture ghoul. He doesn't like dealing with things he can't shoot or scare. He's closed off. Means well, of course, but he's too cautious of the outside world."

Gabriel leans back in his seat and munches an apple. The fruit is dry like any preserved food, but there's still a bit of sweetness to be found in it. "Why do you keep him around? I'm sure there's plenty of hired muscle out there, ghoul or not."

Murphy sighs and stares at the door. He's silent for a good while before speaking. "Kid, ghouls live for a long-ass time. I was around before the bombs fell, did'ya know that? Was a researcher at a government lab when DC was still standing. After the war was over and I wasn't dead, I just wandered for a while. Started looking like this after a few months. God help me, those were horrible times."

Murphy turns and fixes the human with a gaze that has seen too much and wants to forget. "You look for any kind of solace you can get out here, smoothskin. Jet's one way, and it's why I developed the Ultrajet formula. Sometimes the mind just needs to be away for awhile, be someplace else." Murphy shifts his gaze to the bathroom/sleeping area door. "Barrett and I met on business. We worked well together and he decided to stick with me. We're... we're more than close, smoothskin. It's nice to have someone at your side, someone who you can depend on and trust to look out for you. Sure we argue, but Barry and I are there for each other, even when we don't want to be. I learned a long time ago that no matter how tough you think you are, havin' someone around to watch your back is worth more than all the caps in the world. Besides, everybody needs someone who cares enough to call you out on your shit. You get what I mean?"

Gabriel thinks for a moment, his food momentarily forgotten. "No," he says, ignoring the memories of Amata and Lucy. "I don't know what that's like."

Murphy's voice wavers a little. "Shit. Jesus fuck, smoothskin. I don't know whether to pity you or be jealous. Most self-reliant types get killed out here real quick."

Gabriel finishes his apples and takes one last sip from his canteen. "I'm not most types, Murphy."

The ghoul nods and plops down in his swivel chair. "Yeah, I get that. S'why I was arguing with Barry. You're no saint, smoothskin, but you get shit done. I'm no saint either, but I've seen enough suffering to last four of your lifetimes. I know about a place that could use your help, if you'd be willing to lend them a hand."

Gabriel sits up in his chair and looks Murphy in the eye. "I'm not a charity, Murphy. I-"

"Bullshit," the ghoul says, cutting him off. "You help people, even if you don't realize it. Barrett was telling me about the conversation he had with Jericho when he dropped off the kid. He said that you went out of your way to track down The Family, even though the job you were sent to do was done. He told me how you got supplies for Arefu from Doc Hoff and paid for them out of your own pocket. He told me you fought off raiders back in Megaton, disarmed a nuke, and took out an entire group of Talon Company mercs. All of that without any guarantee of reward. That sounds an awful lot like charity to me, smoothskin. Only difference between you and a hero is the fact that you don't know why you do those things. You're all impulse, but it's the impulse that wants to help people. You're like the opposite of a raider. That's fuckin' weird, smoothskin. That's something new in this god-awful place."

Murphy's brand of eloquence and insight has rendered the young man speechless. It dawns on Gabriel that he _is _impulsive, often in ways that go against common sense. He throws himself at problems without any reservation of what might happen to his person, and he doesn't ask much in the way of reward besides what people are willing to offer and what he can scrounge up from the dead. It's a strange realization, one that fills his mind with more questions than answers.

"Look," Murphy says, somewhat apologetic. "Didn't mean to call you out just now. We don't know each other too well. We sure as hell ain't friends." The ghoul manages a light smile. "But I do know that sitting around here for five days isn't going to do you any good. There's a lot to do out in the Wasteland, and someone like you could help a lot of people." He puts his feet up on the desk and leans back in his chair. "I ain't forcing you to do anything, but you not being around for a while would do me and Barry a world of good. We've got some reorganizing to do, now that I'm going back into full swing with the Ultrajet business."

Gabriel rises from his chair and cradles his assault rifle in his grip. "That all you want in this life, Murphy? To just be another post-apocalyptic drug maker?"

Murphy doesn't bat a rotting eyelash. "I could ask the same about you, smoothskin. All you want is to be a wandering killer?"

"Point taken."

Gabriel looks down at his rifle and back up to Murphy. "So," he says after a moment of silence. "What's this job you're thinking about?"

Murphy doesn't bother to hide the grin on his ruined face. He puts his arms behind his head, leans back a bit more in his chair and tells Gabriel about a little settlement called Big Town.

Murphy finishes his tale and looks at Gabriel expectantly. The human rubs his chin thoughtfully and closes his eyes.

"Sure," Gabriel says after a moment. He opens his eyes and gives Murphy a light smile. "I'll go, but there's somewhere I want to check out first."

The human gathers some of his supplies and leaves the reconstituted metro station, stopping only to offer a nod of thanks to Murphy. The smoothskin shuts the door on his way out just as Barrett walks back into the main room.

The ghoul bodyguard leans against a wall and crosses his arms, all the while giving Murphy a knowing glare. "Nice bunch of horseshit you fed that kid about Big Town. You just want him to get himself killed so we can have all his stuff."

Murphy laughs, shakes his head and rises out of his seat. "How little you know me, Barry. There's no way in hell I'd risk that kid's wrath over a pile of supplies and a few guns. That kid killed the entire Family by himself and gave me the kick I need to restart our little operation. Besides, I ain't the type to take advantage like that." He walks over to the front door and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. He pauses just before the key reaches the door handle. "Sorry I barked at you earlier. I didn't mean any of what I said."

Barrett snorts and shrugs. "Yeah, fair enough. I'm sorry too."

"We good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Years of working together and looking after one another are more than enough to wash away their earlier argument, and Barrett offers Murphy the smallest whisper of a smile. "So what'd you send him out there for then? I know for a fact that you don't give two damns about Big Town. They ain't your customer basis."

Murphy turns and gives Barrett a rotting grin. "Hell, I think you know why." Murphy locks the door and winks at his longtime bodyguard. "It'd be a pain in the ass getting you all to myself with that smoothskin around."

It's Barrett's turn to grin as his employer saunters over.

"Got a point there, boss."

* * *

It's a long walk.

Gabriel's face is impassive, almost cold, but he feels alive. Being out in the Wasteland, the dirt and rubble crunching under his boots, the heat of the blazing sun overhead, it's almost overwhelming. The occasional gust of dusty wind is enough to put the whisper of a smile on his face and keep him moving. He knows that almost everything around him is dead, but it somehow _feels _alive. The realization that he had spent almost all of his life in a Vault, locked away from this... feeling, it's staggering. This, this is life, out on the surface. This is living.

This is freedom.

He arrives at his destination and heads inside, pushing his idle fantasies aside as easily as he pushes open the door that's in his way. He's got work to do.

Vault 106.

He knows nothing about Vaults aside from what he knows about 101. He knows about the basics, of course: the design styles, the similar uniforms, the door mechanisms. But each Vault is different, no two are exactly alike. And judging from the state of the massive door he's standing in front of, Gabriel has no idea what to expect when he actually goes inside.

His duffel bag hangs from his shoulder on its strap, considerably lighter than it was when Gabriel first left Megaton with Jericho. He's left a good portion of his supplies back at Murphy's place, mostly non-essentials. He's still got enough food and water to last him a few days, but the rest of the bag is just empty space. His spare ammo and weapons are strapped to his belt or his person. He's got everything he needs for an excursion into what appears to be a long-dead Vault.

He can hear the wind wailing outside of the cave. The shoddy wooden door that led into the Vault entrance is no barrier at all, and that's the point. The real door is in front of him, glaring at him with the faded paint that reads _106_ in ugly, peeling yellow. It's the massive, fifteen-ton door shaped like an over sized gear that is the real barrier, one that Gabriel knows no amount of high explosives will ever get him through.

Thankfully, he doesn't need them.

The door console, while aged and obviously weathered, is still in working order. The console is little more than a standing door lever with some buttons, hardly the sort of interface that can be hacked by a pre-war computer. Gabriel is a little surprised someone hasn't smashed the console or somehow defaced the cave leading into the Vault.

Gabriel stops just short of the console and looks around. Something feels off, like things are out of place. He flicks his Pip-Boy light on, the white glow giving him a little more line of sight. His eyes scan the floor, the walls, every inch of the cave. Nothing.

It doesn't make any sense. There should be _something._ This is a cave in the middle of a post-nuclear holocaust. There should be the remains of a camp in this shelter or the bones of prey that marked the home of some predatory Wasteland animal. Nothing. Gabriel can't believe that nothing in over 200 years has ever taken shelter here. Still, all he sees is dust and rock.

Is it possible that he's the first to set foot in this place after so much time has passed? The idea is as frightening as it is unlikely, but the feeling of unease doesn't dissipate. It's as though the cave was just... waiting for him.

Gabriel shakes off that ridiculous idea as quickly as it enters his thoughts. There's nothing supernatural at work, just an oddity of circumstance and science. He's in the cave now, so he's affecting it. Murphy's law is alive and well for Gabriel Matthews. All things are affected by entropy.

The young wanderer hopes the electronics inside the door console haven't been degraded too much. A Vault's door is tied to its entrance consoles. If one is destroyed, the only way to open it is with the other. Damaging either console forces the Vault's door into an automatic lockdown, sealing it shut until the override command is sent. And that override can only be sent from a working console.

He approaches the console and gives his Pip-Boy a quick wind in anticipation for the impending hack attempt. He kneels next to the worn machinery and feels around for the small hole underneath, the input slot that will allow him to access the console's systems through his Pip-Boy. After finding the small rectangular slot, Gabriel pulls a thin rubber wire from his Pip-Boy and plugs its end into the access port. Thankfully, the console appears to be working fine, even after being unattended for over 200 years.

"Didn't have to go through all this trouble opening 101 from the _inside_," he mutters. The interface on his Pip-Boy slowly loads the console's information, all laid out and ready to be hacked. It's not password protected like a standard computer, but he does have to re-route a few processes before he can access the entrance console and its activation protocols. Thankfully, years of modification to his Pip-Boy has turned the wrist computer into a potent hacking machine, one that can cut through most security systems with ease.

A few button presses later and Gabriel is rewarded with unrestricted access to the door of Vault 106. The door runs off of its own generator and server, he remembers that much from Vault 101, and therefore he can't use the console to access other parts of the Vault. Hacking the security cameras would be nice, if only to see what awaits him inside. It would be nice to know he's not just wasting his time.

There's tech in a Vault, high-end tech and designs and schematics; things he'll need in order to advance Alpha along. He's not getting enough done with his own plans and resources, and the escape from Vault 101 provided him no opportunity to hack the main system. There simply hadn't been time. Human curiosity is also a factor in exploring the Vault, but it's low on his lists of reasons for breaking into an underground city.

"Time to see what we can find," he mutters. His hand reaches for the console's pull-bar with the intent of opening the door.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Cold air settles over him. Gabriel turns, .45 in hand, as a sound behind him demands his attention.

The door to the cave is open and swinging slowly on its rusted hinges. The metal shrieks softly as the outside wind pushes the door back and forth. There's no sign of anyone... or anything having opened the door, but the young wanderer isn't willing to take any chances. He quickly unplugs his Pip-Boy from the console and shuts off its light. Slightly shaken but holding his weapon with a steady aim, Gabriel approaches the door to investigate the source of his discomfort. He moves slowly, his pistol raised. His left hand reaches across his waist and tugs the knife from his belt. He slowly moves across the cave and over to the wall on his right, keeping his pistol firmly between him and whatever awaits him outside. He reaches the exit, moves through the doorway-

Nothing.

Gabriel almost sighs with relief. Almost. Something is still off, there' s still something wrong with the scenario he's in. His eyes are showing him nothing but the typical dust and wind of the Wasteland, the brightness and pounding heat of the sun. There's nothing out of the ordinary, at least as far as the post-apocalyptic surface-world is concerned.

What has him so wound up?

The young wanderer holsters his pistol and slips his knife back into his belt. He turns back and walks into the cave once more, making sure to shut the door behind him and securing it with a large bar lock. No more surprises and nothing to sneak up on him. Even with that done, Gabriel still feels uneasy. Trying and failing to push said feelings aside, he makes his way back to the door console and switches his light back on. He plugs back in, establishes a connection once more and gives the pull-bar a quick tug.

A klaxon sounds, shattering the silence of the cave and overwhelming the wail of the wind outside with its perfectly timed bleating. A flashing orange light above the Vault's door begins to spin, creating shadows with each sweep. Gabriel severs his Pip-Boy's connection to the console, pulls his assault rifle from off of his back and crouches low next to the Vault's door. He closes his eyes and readies himself for the sound of metal scraping against metal.

The door slides open with all the subtlety of a screaming banshee. The gear-shaped pulls back from its surface, a cork in a bottle of wine hundreds of years old. Gabriel watches as the door is rolled away, exposing the interior of the Vault for the first time in over 200 years. The hiss of pressurization fills the air.

His assault rifle held at the ready, Gabriel slowly steps across the threshold and into the Vault proper. The klaxon stops a few moments later, allowing Gabriel to settle into silence once more. The air tastes a little strange, but it's likely just the difference between the dirty air he's been breathing for over a week being replaced with the clean air of a Vault.

He waits for a moment behind a low wall, glancing around the corner to see if a welcoming party is coming his way. After five minutes and no security forces, Gabriel pulls himself out of his crouch and slowly makes his way up the stairs that he believes will lead him into the junction room and into the main lobby, the junction that will allow him access to the rest of the Vault. Even the smallest Vaults were large enough to house hundreds of people, Vault 101 included. As time went on and people died, either from natural causes, accidents or even the occasional murder, the population of Gabriel's home Vault had deteriorated to a few dozen people, not nearly enough to sustain any sort of population, growing or otherwise. As a result, the Overseer had cordoned off large portions of 101's living quarters in order to keep a better eye on things. Gabriel suspects that the same thing has occurred here in Vault 106, if there's even anyone still alive. Thankfully, he's not interested in the entirety of Vault 106. His only real concern in the main terminal in the Overseer's office, the one that will hopefully have useful information buried somewhere in its innards.

The interior of the Vault is dark, with only a few emergency lights running along the ceiling. There hasn't been cleaning or maintenance in this area for years, the rusted floors and accumulated filth make that obvious. Gabriel keeps low even as he makes his way to the door; there's no telling what awaits him inside. He knows most Vaults were stocked with small arms and security armor in the event of rioting or a breach from the outside, but what Gabriel finds after he opens the door to the junction room leaves him more than shocked.

The door swings open and a tangle of skeletons clatter around his feet.

Gabriel brings his rifle up quickly, more out of unease than reflex. The bones at his feet are old, but still unsettling. Only scraps of clothing remain, and the skulls of the dead grin up at him like macabre jesters.

Gabriel breathes heavy and looks through the doorway. There's a mass of additional skeletons just inside the doorway of the junction room and littered on the floor inside. Dark blood, long since congealed, has painted the floor beneath the bodies. Gabriel stares at the twisted and ancient remains of people, people who appear to have died crawling over each other attempting to escape... something.

It hadn't helped them, of course. Gabriel crosses the floor of bones, stepping gingerly between clusters of corpses and doing his best not to crush any bones underfoot. He doesn't care much for the sanctity of a pile of dead bodies, but there's something instinctive keeping him from defacing the dead any further than he absolutely has to. It's the same kind of empathy that elephants, in an age long since passed, had when stumbling upon the remains of their own dead. It's a product of evolutionary biology, one that humanity has built since before it could speak properly.

Gabriel, his assault rifle clutched a little too tightly in his grip, finally makes it across the sea of bones and onto uncluttered steel flooring. He doesn't bother looking back, especially considering that he has yet to find what he's looking for.

"Keep it together," he mutters. "Need to find... fuck... Need to find something."

It's difficult to continue onward. The weaker part of his mind is screaming at him to go back.

Gabriel shrugs off the building fear and slowly makes his way across the room. The door ahead of him is damaged beyond repair, no amount of hardware or hacking is going to get him through, so Gabriel takes the door on his right and passes through a short hallway. The room beyond contains more corpses, bones jumbled together in little piles that dot the floor. Gabriel notes, with no small amount of unease, that there are no weapons, no scattered shell casings, nothing to indicate a civil war or a riot that had to be put down.

"What happened here?" he breathes. "How did these people die?"

Gabriel moves past the skeletons and into a small yet heavily reinforced security room. There's a terminal just inside, but it's damaged beyond use. Gabriel curses quietly and gives the room a glance. There's a skeleton sitting in the office chair that is slumped across the desk. Half of its skull is blown off, the scattered pieces of bone litter the floor. A 10mm pistol sits quietly in the corpses' bony grip, rusted and worthless.

"He saw something. Made him blow his brains out while he was sitting at his goddamn desk. What the hell?"

The Vault raider leaves the security room without checking to see if there are any valuables worth taking. He's officially spooked, no denying that now.

_So that's it? Are we done? Are we going to walk out of this place, pass up on the valuable information that could be stored within, just because you're afraid of a few corpses?_

"Shut up," he growls. "Not afraid of the dead. Worried about what made them dead."

When his inner voice offers no further context, Gabriel passes into the next room and makes a left through a t-shaped hallway before proceeding down a set of metal stairs. He makes another left, his unease keeping him from making a right and descending deeper into the Vault. His boots kick against empty milk and Nuka-Cola bottles and they clink with the sound that can only be made when glass skids across a floor. Discarded papers litter the floor under him. Rusted cans He reaches out, opens the door-

And stares into the eyes of his father.

* * *

It isn't easy to win a staring contest with her father, but Sarah has more experience than anyone else. She also has Gallows, Dusk, Vargas and Glade with her for backup, just in case she caves. But she won't. She's Sarah Lyons, after all. Redding and Jennings, the Pride hopefuls, stand just off to the side and watch the exchange between the highest-ranking members of the Brotherhood in the middle of the Bailey. Everyone, the Initiates included, are wearing full combat kit and armor. The only ones without covered heads are Sarah and Vargas, though both veterans have their helmets clipped to their belts.

The Elder, arms folded, fixes his best guilt-inducing glare on his daughter. "You're asking me to re-write our duty roster for the next week, Sarah. I had those two on Citadel rotations, and I'll not see you risking the lives of Initiates on some half-cocked quest to secure the Capitol Building. Tristan told me about your intent to storm that area, and you and I both know we don't have the resources to support such an endeavor."

Sarah places her hands on her hips and gives her father the 'Don't mess with me' glare. "We aren't going to the Capitol Building. I'm taking these two on their first test-run. We're doing a road patrol, nothing big. Just across the bridge and through the outskirts of the city. There's been word of mutant raids along the road to Rivet City, and god knows that those people don't have the manpower to deal with it themselves."

Owyn meets his daughter's glare with one of his own and the air between them seems to charge with the intensity of their gazes. "You're inducting new members into the Pride? Why was I not informed?"

"Because I knew you'd shoot me down," Sarah says tersely. "And I'm not inducting anyone, not yet. These two have a ways to go before I'll consider them Pride worthy." She walks over to her squadmates and stands, her back to them, so that the Elder has to contend with five pairs of eyes instead of just one. "Yes, you might be a little tight on guard rotations for a few days and yes, there's a risk in taking these two on patrol with the Pride, but when isn't there a risk? We need this route safe and you're dead set on keeping our outposts from doing any raids, so I'm solving the problem for you." Her voice takes on an edge, one that she doesn't want to use with her father even though she knows its necessary.

Elder Lyons sighs heavily and rubs his wrinkled brow. "It is a sad day when I'm strong-armed by my own daughter." He's silent for a moment as he looks the Pride over, his gaze shifting to the Initiates for a brief moment. "Very well, you can have them. But I don't want any unnecessary heroics from anyone. Clear the road and be back by nightfall." He turns to walk away, but stops and looks over his shoulder at Sarah. "You and I will speak once you return, Sentinel. Count on that." His point made, the Elder storms off, leaving the Pride to their work.

Glade whistles, breaking the awkward silence. "Sheesh. Been a while since I've seen the Elder that angry."

Sarah turns to the Pride, a determination in her eyes that hasn't fully manifested itself since Cain's death. "Cut the chatter and make sure you've got everything together. We move in five."

Vargas takes on his role without hesitation. "You heard the lady! Gearcheck, now!" The Pride scrambles to look over their gear, checking clips, ammo packs and slides with practiced professionalism.

Sarah walks over to the Initiates and looks both of them in the eye. "You two understand what you're getting into?"

Jennings salutes sharply, his face obscured by his helmet. "Yes ma'am!"

Sarah suppresses a smile. She likes Jennings, even for all his fumbling. He's a good person and with luck she'll turn him into a better soldier.

Redding racks the slide back on her assault rifle and holds it at the ready. "I know what's up, Sentinel. Just say when. You point, I'll shoot."

Sarah can't shake the distaste she feels at Redding's causality. It's bad enough that she can't see the Initiate's expression behind her helmet, buttThe woman is acting without any sort of deference, no respect for rank or the fact that she's only on the first stretch of joining the Pride.

"I expect you to follow orders to the letter," Sarah snaps, addressing both Initiates. "There will be no grandstanding, no showing off. This is a test, a chance to prove yourself as being worthy to work alongside the Brotherhood's best. This isn't about personal glory or making a name for yourself. This is a simple clearing operation. Go in, kill muties, get out. Is that understood?"

The Initiates salute and check over their gear. With a minute left to spare, Sarah's squad is ready to depart. They leave the safety of the Citadel and cross the bridge.

Soon the sound of gunfire and laser blasts are heard, screaming out of the ruins of the dead city.

* * *

They drag her across the bridge and she screams for all she's worth.

The old, half-rotten boards shove slivers into Red's arms as she scrambles to gain what purchase she can. It's a futile gesture. The creature pulling her is far stronger than anything she's ever encountered. Its stink fills the air, the smell of blood and organ meat and rusted metal and an alien body odor that wafts in the air around it. Even as she's being dragged away from her home, her friends, Red still finds time to be disgusted by the super mutant.

She can hear Crunchy, Bigshot and Shorty as the mutants grab them too. A few gunshots go off, but the roaring of the super mutants drown them out. Screaming all the while, Red is almost overwhelmed by the fear and revulsion she feels for her captors.

The super mutant pulling her leg with an almost disinterested air doesn't even acknowledge Red's struggles. She's utterly helpless, and the green brute knows it. The grimace on its face is little more than yellow-green flesh pulled back from a mouth filled with yellowed teeth. The bony pegs are filthy and splotched with blood and gore and the mutant's eyes are beady slits.

It's wrapped in armor made out of poorly-crafted hide, old tires, and parts from pre-war cars. The whole getup is ramshackle and only stays together from the rusted nails and screws that have been crudely hammered into the joints. Red can see the massive, taut muscle of the creature beneath. She has a hard time believing that the mutant even _needs_ armor.

Red pulls herself up slightly, struggling against the pain of being dragged. She curls her small hands into fists and tries to hit the hand that's wrapped around her leg, but her arms aren't long enough to reach. _I hate being short_, she thinks as she thrashes in the monster's grip.

She starts screaming again, this time throwing insults and profanity around like confetti. At one point Red realizes that she's not even saying words anymore, not ones that make any sense. It's just rage and helplessness, boiling over until nothing's coherent anymore.

Undeterred, the mutant keeps dragging her. They're well outside Big Town now. Red can see the bridge that leads north to...

Oh no.

Her struggles increase and she starts howling like the damned. Not Germantown. Anything but Germantown.

The mutant suddenly stops pulling its human captive, allowing Red a brief respite from all the dragging she's had to endure. The skin on her dark arms is covered in fresh, dusty cuts and her jumpsuit is ripped in several places. By some miracle, Red's treasured bandanna is still tied around her head, matting down her buzzed black hair. Her glasses are gone, lost back in Bigtown, but she only needs them for close up anyway. Looking up at her captor, Red wishes that her vision was just a little bit worse, if only to spare her having to look at the muscled freak.

She turns and sees a group of the monsters nearby. A particularly large mutant has Shorty slung over its shoulder in a non-nonchalant gesture. The small human is shouting and pounding his fists into its back, but the super mutant ignores him. They've got Crunchy bound up in a cage made out of pre-war shopping carts. The normally brash young man Red knows is little more than a quivering, blubbering mess. She sees Bigshot limp and frail, being dragged by a fourth mutant. He's not moving. Dead or unconscious, Red can't tell.

It's all she sees before a giant hand swats her and makes her world go dark.

* * *

"Dad?"

Gabriel can't believe his eyes. James Matthews stands before him, in the flesh, wearing his Vault suit and labcoat. It's him, greying hair and beard, going on white, and the soft, warm smile that had been such a comfort growing up. His assault rifle clatters to the ground. "Dad, what the hell are you doing here?"

James' hazel eyes lock with Gabriel's blue ones. "Son, it's good to see you," he says, as though he had been expecting the young man. "I could use your help." With that said, James turns and walks back into the room, a small yet sophisticated lab space. Unlike the rest of the Vault he's seen, this room is neat and orderly, with bright lights and the hum of functional machinery.

Gabriel is almost speechless. "What do you mean, you can use my help? What kind of bullshit-" He reaches out to grab his father's shoulder.

His hand passes through the man like nothing is there.

Gabriel recoils in horror and pulls his hand away. James turns back to Gabriel, the smile never leaving his face. "You have to get what you came for and get out, son. It's in the Overseer's office, what you're looking for, but it's not safe here. You're going insane, son. You're going insane and this place will kill you."

Without another word, James vanishes. The clean lab room vanishes with him, replaced with a rusted shell of a lab filled with broken computers and scattered science equipment.

Gabriel stares, open-mouthed. "What the hell?" he whispers, "What the hell is happening?" He breathes heavily and his head swims. He stumbles a bit and leans against a wall. The air he's breathing has a sticky-sweet taste, one that hasn't been obvious until now.

_That must be it, _his inner voice tells him, a clear thought that passes through his muddled mind. _Airborne toxin, probably a hallucinogenic. Making you muddled. Making you see things. _

Gabriel acts as swiftly as he can, though his movements are sluggish and imprecise. He reaches into his bag, his fingers fumbling around until they grasp a small, flat box. He pulls it out with reckless abandon, doing his best to keep his hands steady.

When the New Plague had hit back in 2052, the government had responded by mass-producing affordable flu-masks in order to assure the civilian population that things were being taken care of and that the common folk were being looked after. Not that it helped, of course. Over 200,00 people died from the New Plague in the years between 2052 and 2077, and no cure was ever found. Well, something of a cure _had_ surfaced. It just happened to take the form of a nuclear holocaust.

Government oversight is fast becoming Gabriel's best friend. The production of the disposable flu-masks had only increased in the years before the bombs fell, due to increasing civilian paranoia and a willingness to buy them. After the bombs had solved that problem, the masks, 20 per cardboard box, remained in factories throughout the country and eventually had found their way into the surviving population. Moira carried a sizable number of the masks in her shop and Gabriel, being the practical sort, had purchased a half-dozen boxes under advice from Simms that sand storms could happen out in the wastes. That precaution is what gives him some peace of mind now as he punches his thumbs through the cutout flap of the box and yanks a mask free. He fits the mask over his head and takes a small experimental breath. The sticky-sweet taste is less prominent now, and each subsequent breath gives him more confidence to continue onward. It'll be enough, he tells himself. It has to be.

If he leaves now, he'll never have the courage to return.

Gabriel turns and descends another flight of stairs. There are more bones their base and he hops over them with an appropriate sense of urgency. He tries not to think about the dead, and how some of the skeletons had been smaller and more childlike than others. He passes the reactor room on his left and ignores it. The flickering power coils tell him all he needs to know. This place has been dead for a long time.

Gabriel finds himself unable to continue when he reaches a door that's been buried behind a pile of scrap metal and broken furniture. He swears loudly through the mask and turns back, heading back up the stairs and down another corridor. He hurries further into the Vault's innards, like a parasite that's visiting a new set of intestines. He's cautious, to a degree, but he's positive that everyone in Vault 106 has long since died. He has a pretty good idea of what killed them, considering that he hasn't come across any bullet holes or weapons. These people either died from the toxin or killed each other in a hallucinogenic frenzy.

He descends the opposite stairwell, cursing all the while. He straps his assault rifle across his back and draws his laser pistol, giving himself added mobility while still having a weapon drawn, just in case.

He turns the corner at the base of the stairs, sees movement, and fires a shot.

It's his father, again, and the laser passes right through the phantom. Gabriel balks and forces his hand back down just as the vision disappears. It's like the toxin his taunting him.

He trudges onward, moving a little faster now. He can see the hallucinations in the corners of his vision. They're more prevalent now, hands creeping out of walls, flooring that bubbles and shifts even as he places his feet on what he knows is solid ground. His teeth grit and he presses on, trying his best to ignore the horrors that are forming around him. He shakes his head and the images fade, if only for a moment.

He suddenly finds himself on the second floor of the Vault's main lobby, a large space with a catwalk overlooking a central, open area. It's hard to see in the low lighting, but Gabriel can make out a massive spread of bones on the floor below him. It's like half of the Vault was standing there when they died. A concentrated dose, maybe.

Gabriel realizes he's been looking for too long when one of the skeletons stands up and laughs at him.

He blinks twice and the laughing corpse is gone, but now he can see figures standing around the room. People he knows, faces from the Vault. He spots Butch and Jonas among them, old memories from Vault 101.

A voice roots him in place. "Left us."

He turns and she's standing there, the love of his old life. Amata Almodovar, her long, dark brown hair all tousled up into a ponytail. Her figure is young and shaped by the taut lines of her blue Vault suit. She's glaring at him, her green eyes fixed on him with angry intent.

He knows she's not real. The logical part of his brain is all but screaming that fact at him, but when she speaks, he forgets. He forgets that he's a mercenary, a cold heart wrapped in tough skin and armor. He forgets he's covered in guns and that he's left that part of his life behind.

"Left us," Amata repeats, her voice cold beyond words. "Left me. You left all of us, trapped beneath earth and metal and you didn't look back. I loved you, Gabriel Matthews. I loved you and you abandoned me. You abandoned everything."

He reaches out to her, to hold her close and tell her he's sorry, but she vanishes. He stumbles forward as his hands meet nothing and he falls to his knees. Gabriel can see them all around him now, the faces of his Vault, surrounding him and throwing accusations.

"Killed us," the gunshot-ridden bodies of Officers Kendall, Hannon, O'Brien, Richards and Mack moan at him. "Killed us dead, Gabriel."

"Destroyed us," Alphonse Almodovar hisses, his eyes alive with fury. "Destroyed us, Gabriel. I hope you're pleased. You've damned us all."

Others now, all of them. His friends, his neighbors. Lucy is there, her wasteland garb out of place among the clothing of the Vault dwellers, but it doesn't register with Gabriel. His mind is addled. All he hears is the sting in her voice, all he sees are the tears in her eyes.

"I gave you my heart," she tells him. Her voice is a strangled cry, the whisper of a broken woman. "I gave you my heart and you threw it back in my face. I hate you, Gabriel Matthews."

Gabriel's head falls and he stares at the floor. "I'm... Oh god. I never meant... I'm so sorry." His words hiss from between his teeth and his pistol clatters to the floor. Tears stream down his face, wetting his mask.

His mask.

His mask because there's a hallucinogenic toxin lacing the air of Vault 106 and he'll die if he doesn't leave soon.

Gabriel reaches for his pistol and holsters it before standing. He snarls at the apparitions in anger, though the figures around him don't vanish like before. He's wasted too much time and he's been exposed to the gas for too long. He pushes through the visions and they part like water before him. He can see the high-access door the the Overseer's office just ahead. He runs to the barrier, his fingers trembling as he reaches for the emergency lift bar at the bottom of the door. He tugs on it with both hands and-

Nothing. The door is locked and pressure seals have been activated. He's not getting in, the traditional way or through a door hack.

Gabriel almost gives up right there. He wipes the arm of his left sleeve across his face to clear his head and get rid of the tears. He has to use his left arm because his right arm is encased in-

Fisto!

Gabriel looks at his right hand and clenches his fist. The weapon's pneumatic bracing binds as his fingers ball and he pulls his arm back. The first blow puts a plate-sized dent into the door. The second, a little lower than the first, puts a strain on the metal locks keeping the door in place. Gabriel puts every bit of strength behind his attacks as he punches the door over and over again. Sweat beads on his forehead and under his arms. His breathing grows heavy through the disposable mask. He leans forward and rests his hands on his knees, panting like a dying dog. He can hear the hallucinations calling out to him, their damning accusations growing closer and louder with every moment.

"-left us to die, Gabriel Matthews."

"-killed us all, Gabriel Matthews."

"-loved you-"

"-cared for you-"

"-murder-"

"-hate-"

"-death-"

"-fear-"

"-love you, son."

Gabriel turns his head and sees his father standing next to him. There's no accusation in James' eyes, only compassion. The smile on the man's face is enough to give Gabriel focus, as are the words that James gives his boy as he rests a phantom hand on his son's shoulder.

"Try again, son. You can do this. I know you can."

"I'm afraid," Gabriel whispers. "Dad... I don't want to die like this."

"Then fight, son. You can beat this if you fight." James vanishes before his eyes, just as quickly as he appeared.

He knows it's not real. He knows his brain is playing tricks on him. But the soft, encouraging tone in his father's voice is enough to make Gabriel rise again, his arm pulled back, enough strength for one last blow.

The door crumples around Fisto! and collapses, a dented shell of metal. Gabriel wastes no time and scrambles up a set of stairs and around a corner into the Overseer's office. There's a single skeleton sitting at the Vault-style desk, slumped over a terminal. Gabriel knocks the bones away and plugs his Pip-Boy into the terminal. Its modified programming bypasses the terminal's simple security algorithms with ease. He doesn't bother with sorting through the data, the hallucinations are getting worse, so he simply downloads the entire terminal to his hard drive. It'll take up a lot of space, but the alternative is certain to get him killed.

Gabriel chews his lip under the mask as the Pip-Boy downloads every scrap of data. The process is relatively quick, but the stress of the toxic Vault makes the download time seem like an eternity. The voices are all around now, and there's no father to cut through them and give him solace. He can see them drawing closer out of the corners of his eyes, moths to a flame. He ignores the images as best he can, but the gas begins affecting him once more.

Amata, her face a ruined mess with a hammer sticking out of it. Lucy, naked and covered in masses of cuts, each bleeding profusely. Jonas, his father's late assistant, a headless corpse that is somehow able to scream. Other faces, people he knows, all deformed or damaged in one horrifying way or another.

His Pip-Boy beeps twice, a real sound that cuts through the madness growing in Gabriel's mind and the horrors that are appearing in front of his eyes.

"Time to go, son," his father says. "Time to get out of this place."

Gabriel doesn't need to be told twice.

Without stopping to check the rest of the room, Gabriel sprints out of the Overseer's office and through the central lobby. He races up the stairs, taking them three at a time. His heart pounds as he runs through the corridors of Vault 106, corridors that seem to shift and change size even as he sprints through them. His head spins, his vision blurs. Gabriel's breathing becomes more and more labored as he struggles to free himself from the clutches of a mad Vault.

He doesn't realize he's out until he trips on the Vault's threshold and sprawls into the dirt of the cave.

Gabriel rips his mask off of his face and vomits profusely. His bile puddles beneath him as he struggles to rise. His whole body shakes with the effort. The mental trauma he's endured is enough to make even the strongest of souls go weak. He sucks in big gulps of uncontaminated air, his head clearing a little more with each breath he takes.

He turns, just enough to look back at the Vault door behind him. He can see hazy shapes, the remnants of his hallucinations, standing at the edge of the Vault, as though they're unwilling to go any further.

With a quivering hand, Gabriel reaches for his laser pistol and takes aim at the door console. He fires a blast of energy that goes wide and strikes the wall. His second and third shots also miss, and it's only on his fourth shot that Gabriel success in hitting his target. Its frame warps and buckles under the heat of the shot and Gabriel watches sparks fly out of it. The klaxon blares again. He can hear the whir of heavy machinery as the door to Vault 106 prepares to seal itself once more.

The hazy shapes vanish from sight as the door slots itself back into place with a grinding shriek. Gabriel, relieved for the first time since arriving at Vault 106, pulls himself up and away from the stinking pool of sick that was once his breakfast. He sits up against a nearby wall and brings his breathing back to a steady pace.

"Thanks dad," he whispers. He's silent for a moment before speaking again.

"Note to self: Get a fucking gas mask."

* * *

He spends a few minutes composing himself before moving on, but Gabriel does eventually get over his ordeal. He doubts he'll sleep well in the near future, but at least he's alive. The young wanderer can take some consolation in that much, at the very least.

He washes the taste of vomit out of his mouth by gargling and spitting a mouthful of water. He takes a long drink from his canteen and forces some additional food into his system to replace what his body regurgitated. After checking over his gear to make sure he hasn't lost anything in his rush to escape Vault 106, Gabrield gathers himself and proceeds to the coordinates that Murphy had pointed out on his Pip-Boy map. After what he's gone through, Gabriel doubts that he'll ever find anything nearly as frightening as Vault 106 at the troubled settlement.

It takes him a little over an hour to get there, but Gabriel eventually does reach Big Town.

He doesn't stroll into the settlement like a moron. No, he starts by taking position on a nearby hill and staring at the cluster of pre-war houses through Arkansas' scope. Keeping one eye closed while scouting is starting to bother him. He'll have to grab some binoculars from Harith or Wolfgang next time he sees them. Maybe Moira's got some stashed away in her shop.

It doesn't matter; not right then, at any rate. What does matter is the little world he can see through the scope. A large metal fence that creates a barrier around the four buildings in the center of the town, the few that are still standing after 200 years. He can see a ramshackle bridge that hangs over a small, filthy moat. He can see a frightened-looking sentry sitting behind a wall of sandbags, clutching a worn hunting rifle with shaking hands. He can see large indentations in the dirt just outside the town, likely the footprints of the super mutants that first Simms and then Murphy warned him about. He can see something else too, long gouges in the ground that indicate that something has been dragged, and fairly recently. There's blood on the ground, dull but visible.

They took some of the villagers with them. Dragged them out of the town like spoils of war.

_Nice job, Gabe-my-boy. While you were fuckin' around in that Vault of horrors, some poor bastards got kidnapped. Probably dead by now. You could've done something about it, you know, if you hadn't been such a selfish jackass._

Gabriel takes a deep breath to lessen the anger that builds behind his eyes. That's where it builds, he's discovered. Like a headache or a realization, anger starts from behind his eyes and seeps into every fiber of his being. He's acutely aware of the sensation as it occurs, like boiling water through the pipes that are his veins and capillaries. Anger is the sudden itchiness in his fingers and the twitch of his right eyebrow.

He counts the seconds it takes to calm himself and stops just shy of a minute thirty. It's a remarkably long time for someone who's consciously aware of their own anger. Still, he's fought it back. It's not the impenetrable haze that's controlled him in the past.

Gabriel gives the town another glance through the scope. He can see a few people milling around, hunched over and looking like kicked dogs. It's as saddening as it is pathetic.

He sighs and straps Arkansas to his back. "Am I really about to waste the rest of my day trying to fix whatever mess is happening around here?"

When his inner voice doesn't answer, Gabriel begins the trek down the hill and into the town.

* * *

She can't see anything.

Her head is fuzzy. There's some sensation, some external stimuli, but it's all muddled. Cold concrete floor, grating voices buried behind layers of head trauma. She tries to blink, but her eyes won't open. She tries to move, to shift somehow, but her body remains limp.

A scream nearly brings Red out of her fugue state, but it's not enough. The pain begins to settle in, an overwhelming blanket. She can't tell who's screaming by the sound, but she's sure it's one of her friends. She's almost sure.

_Could be anyone, _she thinks. _Could be me._

Red remembers the situation she's in. The next scream that pierces the air is enough to open her eyes.

* * *

"Stop! Stop right there, or I'll put one between your eyes!"

Another ridiculous gate guard, except this one doesn't look even half as intimidating as the last one did. Robert. That had been his name. Robert. Now nothing more than a pile of ash in the dark.

If Gabriel ever has any want to kill this guard, the poor kid doesn't stand a chance.

That's what the armor-clad male pointing his hunting rifle looks like, a scared kid. Gabriel can see through the plastic screen of the kid's riot helmet. The eyes beneath it are bloodshot and shadowed. There's fear there, fear that's grown and taken root. Gabriel can practically smell it. If it wasn't obvious enough, the poor guard's hands are shaking so bad that he'd be lucky to hit any target, even if it was point-blank.

Regardless, Gabriel holds up his hands. "Easy. Just here to see what's going on. Can I speak to whoever's in charge?"

The look on the kid's face shifts from frightened to bewildered almost instantly. "We... nobody's in charge here. We just sit. Sit and wait. The movements. We wait and we die and we shit ourselves and-"

Gabriel cuts him off before the young man can deteriorate any further. "Listen, I'm here to help. What's your name?"

The kid's hands stop shaking a bit, and it's all Gabriel can do to repress the sigh of relief that wants to course through him. "I'm Dusty," the sentry exclaims, sounding shocked that Gabriel has even bothered to ask. "I... I stand watch. I look for movements. Big, lumbering movements or small, jittery movements."

Gabriel nods, as though the crazy coming from the Dusty's mouth actually makes sense. "Sure. Listen, Dusty, I need to speak with someone who knows what's going on around here." _Someone stable, _Gabriel thinks.

Dusty answers, still looking shell-shocked. "Yeah. Okay. Maybe... maybe you can help. Get the others back. I can't leave my post though. I have to watch. I have to look for the movements."

"That's fine, Dusty. Just keep doing what you're doing. Is there someone in town who can help me while you're here?"

"Kimba, maybe. Oh, Pappy'll help. Or he'll try. He tries to fix things, but nothing ever gets fixed around here. Flash'll talk big, but he's useless. Bittercup is useless too. Not that the rest of us are any better off, of course, but at least I can see the movements."

"That's okay, Dusty." Gabriel feels confident enough to lower his arms, but he doesn't abandon his caution. Dusty is obviously under a lot of psychological duress. "Listen, I'm going to walk into town now, okay? I'm going in to talk to your... the other people who live here."

Dusty nods quickly. "Go on inside. I'll stay here. Keep an eye on things. Watch the movements."

Gabriel slowly makes his way across the bridge and past the jittery sentry. He walks into the settlement proper. Well, it's only a settlement in the loosest form of the word. The houses, though structurally sound, are filthy and ramshackle. The streets and alleys between them are covered in garbage and an unhealthy stink fills the air. He's aware of the frightened faces that look out at him from shattered windows and half-opened doors.

He makes his way to the 'center' of the settlement; the point where the two streets in the town intersect. He stops and looks around, dusty wind fluttering around his legs.

"I need to speak to whoever is in charge. Right now."

Nothing moves, but Gabriel can hear mumbling and hushed voices. Arguing. Fear. When no one approaches after several minutes, Gabriel opens his mouth again, this time with a hand on the laser pistol at his belt.

"That wasn't a request. The person in charge, now, or I start shooting until I find them."

The voices are a little more frantic and a little louder than before. After a moment of whispered arguing, two people step out of a building at Gabriel's right. One is a taller man, dressed in rags that can barely be called clothes. His hands and feet are wrapped in bandages and his dirty-brown hair is little more than a poorly cropped bowl-cut. He's got a bit of rusted pipe hanging from a tattered belt at his hip, but no other weapons. His face is full of fear and there are deep circles around the young man's hazel eyes.

The second is a dark-skinned woman wearing a set of tight-fitting leather armor. She's no older than the man she's standing next to, even though he's almost a head taller than her. Her black hair is tied back into a simple ponytail that only shows the wear on what might have been an attractive face at some point. Her brown eyes look at Gabriel with a mixture of uncertainty and fear, but she walks forward alongside her companion regardless.

It's the man who speaks first. "I... I guess we're in charge, for what good it does. I'm Pappy. This is Kimba." Neither of them extend their hands, but it doesn't bother Gabriel in the slightest. He's not here to make friends.

"I hear you've been having some trouble with the super mutants." Gabriel says, pulling his hand away from his pistol. "I came here to see if I could give you a hand."

The reaction from Pappy is the last thing that Gabriel expects. The young man bursts into tears and falls to his knees, covering his grimy face with his hands. Kimba places a hand on his shoulder and Gabriel can see tears pooling under her eyes.

"I..." Kimba wipes her tears off on the sleeve of her armor. She turns to give Gabriel a look that even he has to pity. "I'm sorry. We just... Nobody has ever-"

"Why?" Pappy asks, pulling his hands away from his face. "Why are you really here? You want to kill us? Send us off to Paradise Falls? Tell us the truth, I don't care what it is. Just don't mock us by pretending you're here to save us from this hell."

Gabriel's anger threatens to surface but he manages to keep it down, if only because of the near-palpable anguish in the air. "A... a friend of mine asked me to come out here. " He doesn't say anything else. He can't lie to these people. He can't tell these people that he doesn't have any altruistic reasons for helping them.

"You're here to help?" Kimba whispers? "Truly?"

Gabriel shrugs. "I can't promise anything, but I'm willing to try."

The other residents of Big Town walk out into the open, their faces dirty and their eyes full of fear. They look like the survivors of some post-apocalyptic holocaust; the starved and broken remains of some endless hell.

Gabriel wonders what he's gotten himself into.

* * *

_The eyebot floats lazily through the air, ignoring the blasted Wasteland around it._

_It's an impressive piece of technology. Round and light, the eyebot can move at a speed of up to ten miles per hour. It contains solar-powered air suspension, high end motion trackers and a fully adaptable scanner for terrain and obstructions. __A sturdy and simple steel composite frame allow the eyebot to remain active under harsh weather conditions and in hostile environments._

_Undamaged, an eyebot can't get lost. Undamaged, and with a powerful radio tower to receive its signal, an eyebot can scout territory effectively and relay information up to 150 miles away._

_Undamaged, an eyebot is an excellent way to send a message._

_The little robot floats along, its small anti-personnel laser whirring back and forth in a simple sweep. Music blares loudly from its external speakers, filling the air with the sound of a precise and patriotic marching band. Flutes flutter, trumpets blare, trombones and tubas growl. The rising wave and crash of snare drums and cymbals. The heavy boom of a bass drum. It's a sound as American as apple pie and picnics. It's a memory wrapped in the whispers of a dead dream._

_He waves it over and the music stops._

_The eyebot closes the distance without hurry. Upon reaching its destination, it hovers in place and waits for an offered command._

_"Mr. President," he says quietly._

_A crackle of radio static erupts from the eyebot's speakers before clearing up. A voice reaches out from the bowls of the machine. An amalgamation accent of southern, east-coast and mid-west influences, the speaker seems hesitant before responding._

_"Ah. Sir. I was not expecting to hear from you today."_

_A smile, cold and predatory, splits the his face. "It is not your job to expect, Mr. President. Your job is to act, when and where I tell you to."_

_A tremor in the President's voice. "Of course, of course. Forgive my... impertinence. Things are moving quickly these days, as I'm sure you're aware."_

_"Everything proceeding as planned," he says into the machine. Miles away, within a place called Raven Rock, the President answers._

_"I am very pleased to hear it. We will be moving soon, I suspect?"_

_"Patience, Mr. President. The final pieces are not yet in place. The board must be less cluttered before we can sweep it clean. And, like any game of chess, the necessary pieces only reach their full potential when they are in the right place at the right time. All things in due time, you realize."_

_"I understand. Might I ask though, are all these... diversions really necessary? Could we not-"_

_"We will not stray from the plan, Mr. President. Consider that an order."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_The silence that follows is as unsettling as a dying man's screams._

_"Are you there, sir?"_

_He grins. "My apologies. I was merely thinking about the future."_

_The President hides his confusion with a practiced deflection that any pre-war politician would have killed for. "Of course, sir. If you'll excuse me, I've quite a bit of work that needs doing."_

_His grin fades. "Don't we all? Terminating link." A fizzle of static fills the air and the connection is lost. The eyebot continues to float in place and waits for orders that never come._

_In a moment of indulgence, he reaches out and buries his right hand in the metal grill of the eyebot's face. The robot fizzles as he holds it up into the air. The afternoon sun blazes down and catches on the silvery metal. Beams of white light flash into the air._

_His hand still wrapped in the eyebot's metal innards, he smiles._

_The robot explodes like a grenade. Impossibly, he remains unmarked by the blast. His hand is a claw stretching toward the sky._

_"Soon now," he whispers. "Finally, after all these years."_

_Whistling a tune, he leaves, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat._

* * *

**LM here,**

**Hey, so it's 2013. Yeah. Huh.**

**Dammit...**

**Anyway, glad you could make it. This chapter has been sitting on the burner for a while and I didn't think it was ready until now. I re-wrote this one three times before deciding I wanted Vault 106 in the mix. It was fun adding the scenes with Murphy and Barrett, as well as seeing how Red got kidnapped and what Sarah's up to with the newbies. I plan on adding more stuff with Sarah in the next one, so get ready for some Brotherhood-style combat, as well as a whole mess of super mutants for our favorite Sentinel and our jerkwad LW. :)**

**Oh, and before I get any flak for it, yes, Barrett and Murphy are a gay couple. If you have a problem with that, find another story to read. This is an adult work that deals with adult situations, and I'll not have any ignorance or bigotry clogging my review page or inbox. I'm not going to debate it. Any lip about it and I'll block you and send said lip to the FF admins and let them sort you out. Not joking. This is my serious face.**

**I didn't know they were gay until I started thinking about the characters, but it fits, at least in my interpretation of the story. I found it adorable. Gay ghouls. I'm beyond proud of myself, and you'd damn well better believe it. I'm totally shipping those two from now on. (Fanboy squee).**

**Vault 106. Loved this dungeon back in Fallout 3 and wanted to include it in this story for quite some time. I felt now would be the best time to do it, even though we've still got a ways to go before we're done. I felt that 106 had some great and creepy concepts working for it, but I didn't feel that the game took it far enough. You probably noticed that I took some creative liberties with 106, and that was only to the point of what Gabriel would encounter withing the Vault. I like it better this way, at least in my story. And holy crap, it was great to see some emotional fatigue from Gabriel, even if it was the byproduct of some crazy hallucinations.**

**Uh-oh. The President didn't respect the Stranger's authoritah. **

**One last thing before I go. I don't do this often, but I was playing Fallout 3 to get my head back into this story and I found something I hadn't seen before. Something new? Yes! I was flat-out amazed that this game, which I believed held no further secrets from me after years of playing and countless hours spent within its digital confines, actually surprised me with something I stumbled across. I was floored. Friggin' love Fallout 3. (Finished Symphony is also a great track to listen to if you're tired of the wind while you're exploring. The LW moves at about the same pace as the beat does.)**

**Okay, all done. Thanks again for reading, and I'll make sure to try and get the next one out sooner rather than later. Let me know what you think, I always love hearing from you guys.**

**Levi Matthews**


	10. Bloody Mess

Bloody Mess

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Fallout 3 or the Fallout universe. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful minds at Bethesda.**

**Song Credit: ****The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Turn the Page by Subsonic & Drifta (feat. Kaytee). God Bless Subsonic, Drifta and Kaytee.**

* * *

Crunchy and Bigshot are dead.

Crunchy was first, and though Red hadn't seen the deed, the screams from somewhere below were enough to confirm that fact. Screams and an awful... awful tearing sound.

Bigshot was next, and as horrible as the idea sounds in Red's mind, it had been an accident. The young man hadn't woken since being abducted, and the super mutants hadn't paid much attention to the prisoner. They hadn't even bothered to lock him in a cell, unlike both Shorty and herself. No, they just tossed Bigshot on the floor and left him there.

Then, as one mutant was checking on the prisoners, it accidentally stepped on Bigshot's head. Red screamed as her friend's skull shattered under the weight of the heavy boot. The super mutant at least had the decency to look surprised. Dumbly, the monster had lifted Bigshot's headless corpse off of the ground and looked at it as if wondering where the body had come from.

Then, to Red's infinite horror, the mutant had shrugged and taken a large bite out of Bigshot's left shoulder before dragging him off to be eaten elsewhere.

Now Red is curled into a ball in a back corner of her cell. They've got her and Shorty locked up in the old Germantown police headquarters; the cell block, specifically. Shorty is a few cells down from her, quiet for the moment. When they had arrived, Shorty had been swearing like a man possessed, insulting the mutants every way he could imagine. It had been somewhat comforting. Shorty's insults were the stuff of legend back when they had lived in Little Lamplight. Despite that fact, the mutants don't see Shorty as a threat. They certainly don't have any reason to. Even the shortest of mutants is still enough to leave Shorty at waist level.

It's only been a few hours since her abduction, but Red knows she's going to die in this awful place. She can hear the mutants as they stomp through the building, too many for her to run from or sneak past, even if she is able to somehow. There are nearly a dozen of them, and she likely hasn't seen all of them. Super mutants travel in large groups. Her years of helping Little Lamplight scavenge teams have shown her that.

She has no more tears. She has no more hope. They'll kill her and eat her, or they'll... she's heard them talking about turning people into super mutants in that grunting, broken speech that they use. That's not... she'd rather die than become one of those things. Still, Red realizes that she might not have a choice.

After all, it's not like they're going to just let her go.

* * *

"You let them go."

Star-Paladin Leliana Cross looks up at Elder Lyons as the two sit across from each other in the Elder's quarters. The rounded pre-war table between them is small and rickety, but is still enough to comfortably accommodate an old checker board. Cross prefers chess, it's more strategy oriented, but she knows the Elder likes things simpler during the few moments of spare time he finds during the day.

"Yes, I let them go," the Elder says quietly, a little smile tucked within his wrinkled features and coarse beard. "I have been chastised appropriately, and by my own daughter, no less. Rest her bones, what would my Naomi have said? I certainly have lost my touch." His grin widens a little as he manages to king one of his pieces. A game of checkers can be quick and easy, more so when his opponent is a cyborg with an advanced computational intellect and can beat him easily within a few turns. She never does it, of course. Cross can end their little games whenever she wants. The Star Paladin just chooses not to.

He's blessed to have such friendship in the last years of his life.

Cross jumps a pair of Lyons' black pieces and plucks them off of the board. "It's not like you to just let her go off like that. The two of you usually work out these little excursions days in advance, making sure not to leave anything vulnerable or short-staffed." She gives him a knowing look from across the table, her frame large and imposing in her bulky blue power armor. It's a sharp contrast to the Elder's form, all thinned and wrapped in a worn blue longcoat.

"It will be fine," Lyons replies, pondering his next move. He's got to shore up his defenses or she'll walk all over him. "Besides, I'll just assign Greg and Colvin to the rotations the Initiates would have taken." He slides one of his pieces forward in order to block another assault from Cross. "These things work themselves out. They always do."

Cross raises an eyebrow. The light catches her features and the softness of her brown eyes. With light wrinkles that cross over her cheeks and trace across her brown, the Star-Paladin looks at first glance to be a woman entering late fifties or early sixties. Her steel-colored hair has been cropped into a military-style crew for as long as Lyons has known her, and it doesn't look like even a single strand of hair has ever fallen out of place. It's all illusory, of course. Cross' cybernetics are the reason that a woman that has nearly ten years on the Elder looks like she's only just reaching the later years of her life.

"You're being awfully lenient, Owyn," Cross says quietly. She flips a black piece between her thin fingers. "The Sentinel doesn't-"

"She doesn't need me to hold her hand," Lyons states. "Certainly not in matters concerning her squad. I am not thrilled that my daughter felt she had to go behind my back, but I will respect her choice in the matter. She did what she felt was necessary, just as I did. Leadership is all about knowing when one needs to do the right thing, even if the path is difficult."

There's a brief pause before the Elder continues. "And that certainly includes stepping on toes and angering people. Sometimes I wonder what our Brotherhood would be if we weren't willing to make people angry. I doubt there would be a single one of us alive today. God knows the Great Maxson was more than willing to defect from his government, the most powerful force in the world, and still have the determination to say it straight to their faces."

Cross's surprise doesn't show well on her lined and hard features, but Lyons spots it instantly. "You did this on purpose," she says flatly. "You knew that she was actively recruiting this whole time, didn't you?" The Star Paladin jumps a solitary piece on her side of the board, accidentally setting the Elder up for a game-killing triple jump. It's the first mistake she's ever made during a game of checkers.

Lyons chuckles and jumps all three of said pieces, getting a free king as a prize. "You say that like I do not always act with purpose." He looks up at Cross and smiles. The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes come together in an expression that is both endearing and kind. "Besides, my daughter is more than capable of taking care of herself and her squad. She'll be fine."

Cross levels a look of respect at her Elder. Even in his age, and without a brain that is part computer, he can still surprise her.

"Now then," Lyons says, standing. There's no need to continue the game. Cross' mistake has ensured an easy win for the Elder.

"Shall we get something to eat?" Owyn Lyons asks. "I have it on good authority that they're making mirelurk stew down in the Mess."

Cross smiles and nods, rising from her own seat.

"After you, my Elder."

* * *

Sarah ducks low against the gutted and burnt shell of a pre-war car as gunfire splits the air above her.

Using a pre-war vehicle as cover is a risky choice and it always has been. On one hand, they're everywhere in the Wasteland, scattered in large, easy to utilize clumps that are practically begging to take bullets on behalf of the people (or monsters) who happen to be shooting each other. On the other hand, all it takes is one stray shot to set off the small nuclear reactors inside the vehicles. A pre-war car exploding is akin to the detonation of a mini-nuke. It's important to avoid using a car for cover for a prolonged period of time. That is, of course, you're using one that's already been blown up, like Sarah is. At that point the gutted metal frames are fair game.

The super mutants are camped closer than she's predicted, but at least they were more than willing to give their position away when they noticed the squad of Brotherhood soldiers patrolling across the bridge. She's thankful that the bastards are at least stupid enough to foil their own ambush.

Still, the situation is hardly ideal. There are a mess of super mutants in the ruins of the pre-war office buildings ahead and they're all firing with reckless abandon. It's a favorite tactic for the green freaks. They like to suppress their prey and then move in for the kill. Even from her low crouch Sarah can see super mutants milling about, moving in to close the gap.

She's not about to let them.

She half turns to Vargas, who is crouched against another pre-war car a few feet behind, the Initiates alongside him. "Vargas, you and the newbies give us some suppressive fire!"

Vargas nods an affirmative and starts firing his assault rifle at the oncoming super mutants. The Initiates join in, Redding with her own rifle and Jennings accenting the punch of physical gunfire with calm, accurate laser fire.

With the muties pinned on their own end of the bridge, Sarah can focus on the ones in the building ahead. She knows that Dusk is getting an angle from somewhere behind her. She knows where Glade is because the fully-armored Paladin is in cover next to her, waiting for a chance to get his missile launcher into the fray. Gallows is gone and has been gone since they left the Citadel. It's nice having an advance scout she doesn't have to really worry about, but it would be helpful to to know exactly what Gallows is up to.

Glade raps his armored knuckles against the metal casing of his launcher. "Any chance we could get rid of some of those guys in the building before I stick my head out?"

Sarah nods and speaks into the radio built into the collar of her suit. "Dusk," she says loudly over the sound of raining metal, "Status?"

"Lining it up, Sentinel. Whoops, got us a heavy. No worries." A sharp crack splits the air somewhere above Sarah and she turns to follow the shot. She sees a mutant in the building above, standing in a gap where a large window once stood, a missile launcher in its hands. Its head explodes a split-second later and the body tumbles to the ruined streets below.

"Aww yeah," Dusk laughs through her radio. "I felt that from here." She fires up at the building again and a mutant with an assault rifle falls back, a bloody crater where its chest used to be.

The enemy gunfire trickles off a little, enough for Sarah to risk leaning out of cover in order to join the fight. She spots a mutant moving across the bridge, a brute with a minigun, and fires two shots from her laser rifle in quick succession. The first blast strikes the mutant's shoulder. The second blast vaporizes the freak from the neck up. The corpse thuds to the ground, its weapon clattering beneath it.

Vargas yells for the Initiates to fan out and stay low. The Initiates, readied by the countless hours of drills that Gunny has force-fed them over months of training, move with a slow and steady mentality that keeps them safe from enemy gunfire. They take cover on opposite sides of the bridge and resume their steady rate of fire, using the husks of pre-war like the others have done.

Quick learners. Either from the drilling or by example, Sarah doesn't care. What matters is that they're doing exactly what they need to be doing. And, from the lack of scolding on Vargas' part, they're doing a good job of integrating themselves into the current situation.

The Sentinel sprints forward, gunfire whizzing around her as she moves to the next closest vehicle. A few shots ping off of her shoulder plates but Sarah doesn't let it distract her. She's the Sentinel. She's the best there is.

A quick slide against another dead car is enough to get Sarah into position. There are six mutants crouched low across from her, she can see their hulking forms clearly through the shells of the vehicles they're using as cover. Vargas and the newbies still have them pinned, but it's only a matter of time before they start charging.

"How are we looking, Dusk?" Sarah's words are loud over the gunfire and more than enough to fill the small radio at the base of her armor's neckline.

The sniper's reply is swift and informative. "Just about finished, Sentinel. One more-" A crack of gunfire. "Done. Glade's clear. Just give the word."

Sarah fires a few blasts from her energy rifle to keep the muties distracted. "Glade! Rocket on my mark! Hit center and make it big!"

"Copy that," Glade says. Sarah can hear the grin in his voice. "On your word, Sentinel."

A pair of super mutants rush out of cover and toward their dead fellows' discarded minigun. At this prompting, three of the other freaks rush out, weapons blazing. Bullets ping all around Sarah, but it's nothing in the eyes of the Sentinel."

Her words are quiet compared to the sound of the gunfire, but she knows Glade can hear her. "Now, Paladin."

The missile screams past her. She can feel the heat of its exhaust and the rush of air as the explosive passes by. She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, anticipating the explosion she knows will soon follow.

Screams, the screams of horrible monsters. At least three, maybe more. The air-shaking thump of an explosive detonation. The crunch of concrete and steel as its turned into rubble. The pattering of said rubble as it rains down around her. She lets five seconds tick away, waiting for the inevitable detonation of any nearby cars. Said cars explode into mushroom clouds and her teeth shake.

She takes three deep breaths. One. Two. Three.

Sarah stands up.

* * *

Glade holds in a breath. Sarah's on Sentinel mode. Time slows down as he watches her.

"Here we go," he whispers.

There's rubble peppering all around her. Rifle ready, she swings out of cover. Glade can see the way her body shifts with her armor as she takes aim and fires. He can't see her target through the smoke from his missile, but he can hear the scream of the mutant she's hit. She strides into the smoke, firing as she goes.

She's fearless.

Glade snaps back into action and busies himself with loading a fresh missile into his launcher. He and Dusk are on overwatch duty today. They don't move unless Sarah tells them to. It's an old standby for the Pride. One group moves up, the others stay back to provide cover fire in case the first group needs to fall back. The Pride's always fought against superior numbers, and their tactics have evolved to compliment that fact.

Vargas and the newbies move up to give Sarah support, but Glade knows that the fight is basically over. Dusk's sharpshooting has already dealt with the muties on the high ground and he's killed off the majority of the bastards on the bridge. Sarah's the closest, so she'll be the one to finish the freaks.

Dusk sidles up next to him, already loading a fresh clip into her .308. "You see Gallows anywhere?"

The Paladin shakes his head. "Nope. He's probably causing problems further along the route. You know how he is."

Dusk grumbles something and adjusts her sights. "Gun or ripper?" she asks after a moment.

Glade smiles under his helmet. Someone always wants to play the game, even when it's a small team. "Twenty caps says ripper. She's got that look in her eyes. All close and personal today."

"She didn't bayonet it to her rifle," Dusk says, a challenge in her voice.

"Sentinel doesn't need to," Glade retorts.

As if to validate his claims, the grinding wail of Sarah's ripper fills the air, just before a mutant's scream mutes the sound. Dusk swears loudly, though not loud enough to mask the sound of flesh being shredded by a miniature chainsaw. There's a slight pause before the weapon grinds to speed again and another mutant shrieks. Silence descends on the bridge once the mutant's screams cease.

Sarah's voice crackles in over their radios. "All clear. Pride, form up on me."

Glade hefts his launcher onto his shoulder and pulls himself out of cover. "You can pay me when we get back to the Citadel, Knight-Captain."

Dusk groans and sets pace alongside the Paladin. "You're really asking for it, sir."

Glade laughs heartily. It's good to get back into the thick of things.

"I'll keep that in mind, Dusk."

* * *

"You're asking for it," Gabriel mutters.

He can see her through the scope, the poor thing. The raider has no idea how close she is to death. And, in his low crouch across the river, Gabriel is moments away from ending her life.

That said, it's proving difficult for Gabriel to pull the trigger.

It's not a challenging shot, not by any means. The spike-covered woman is sitting at the edge of a ramshackle dock, her toes dipped in the irradiated water. Stupid on two counts: she's irradiating herself and presenting an easy target for anyone who happens to be pointing a high-powered rifle her way. She's begging for a bullet between the eyes.

Nonetheless, Gabriel's choice of target gives him pause. The woman looks... we she certainly doesn't look like a drug-crazed fiend, ready to kill him in a second if she spots him. No, the raider has a sad, introspective expression on her weathered face. It's a look he's seen on the faces of others; Amata and Lucy being the first that come to mind. She looks a little like Amata, if he's being honest with himself. Her black hair is shorter and caked with filth, but the face is similar, rounded on the sides with a defined chin. Skin tone is similar as well, a soft caramel color. Gabriel can't see the raider's eyes through the goggles she's wearing, but that's probably a good thing.

Still, a raider is a raider, no matter the face. She's got a hunting rifle sitting next to her and there are two other raiders that need dealing with.

"Shame." he mutters, his voice thick with a drawl that he doesn't really hear. "Pretty thing. Damn shame." Gabriel's finger rests against Arkansas' trigger.

Her head explodes at the crack of a .308 round. Her body slumps back from the force of the shot, arms spread out and feet still hanging in the water. The woman is dead before Gabriel can react.

He's not the one who fired the shot.

Gabriel goes prone as soon as he realizes that there's another sniper on the field. He abandons the view through the scope and looks around hurriedly, trying to place exactly where the un-suppressed shot came from. It sounded close, somewhere to the left. He can still see the remaining raiders in their camp across the river, grabbing guns and shouting expletives. A third raider, one who wasn't visible until now, stumbles out of a ramshackle outhouse, his pants around his ankles and a drum-fed combat shotgun in his hands. Whatever comedic impact the image has is lost when another shot rings out and blows the unlucky raider's head off.

The other two raiders finally take cover against a poorly-built storage shed. They're both carrying assault rifles. One of them looks over at-

_Shit._

Gabriel stands quickly and throws himself to the right as both raiders open fire on his position. He runs toward a nearby rock, cursing his luck all the while. The sniper has ruined everything.

His thoughts go from anger to pain as a pair of bullets tear into the meat of his left arm. He almost drops Arkansas out of shock. Almost. Gabriel drops behind the rock and slides up against it, breathing heavily and trying his best to stave off the pain that has begun to spread through the injured limb. He then shrugs off his rucksack and lets it fall to the ground.

He can hear them through the pain, footfalls splashing through shallow water. The raiders are crossing the river, cackling and closing in. With no time to patch up his arm, Gabriel reaches for Holly's .45, his right hand fumbling and folding as it attempts to retrieve the powerful handgun from the holster under his right armpit. The laser pistol isn't an option, not at close range. It just doesn't have the stopping power he needs.

He tugs the .45 free and waits. He spits, and the words that follow drip with rage. "Come and get me, you motherfuckers. Come and-"

Another shot from the unseen sniper splits the air. Gabriel can hear a scream and a thump as a body hits the ground. The other raider shouts in surprise just before a second shot rings out and silences him.

Things get quiet after that. Too quiet for Gabriel's liking. He uses the reprieve to set the .45 on the ground and roll up his left sleeve to look at the wounds. The reinforced shoulder pad woven into the armor has saved his shoulder, but everything below the armpit is still vulnerable. One of the bullets has passed clean through, but the other is buried somewhere in the muscle. The arm spasms every time he tries to move it and the tissue damage is extensive. He won't be using the limb until he's dealt with the sniper. His options are limited to a sidearm in his right hand. Arkansas and the assault rifle are out of the question. He can't uses Fisto! while firing a pistol and his combat knife won't do him much good when his off-hand is useless. There's always the grenades, but he doubts the sniper will get close enough for them to be effective.

"It's always the snipers," he mutters. "Every fucking time." Gabriel sets Holly's .45 to the side and reaches for a syringe of Med-X at his belt. He fumbles trying to stick the needle into his neck without a hand to steady his aim, but after a few nicks he gets the job done. He tucks the empty syringe into his belt once the drug is in his system. Waste not, want not.

Gabriel picks up the .45 again and shifts his way to the side of the rock. He glaces briefly over the side, enough to get a clear view of what is going on around him. A bullet smacks into the rock next to his head. Gabriel swears loudly and slides back behind cover. No question about it. The sniper isn't messing around.

"You're a quick sonofabitch!" a voice shouts out. The speaker is male and sounds like a sadist. "Why don't you come on out? I promise I'll make it messy!"

Gabriel says nothing. He's not about to give himself away more than he already has. Hell, he's already at a massive disadvantage due to the fact that his rifles are a non-option. Still, the Med-X is starting to kick in. He can still feel blood dripping out of his arm and the small pricks on his neck, but at least the pain has been deadened somewhat.

"I had the drop on you the whole time!" the sniper shouts, cackling with glee. "I 'coulda killed you whenever I wanted, but I decided to save the best for last. After all, what good is an appetizer if you eat the main course first? And you? My friend, you are the main fuckin' course."

_What the hell,_ Gabriel thinks. _Might as well keep this guy talking. After all, the longer he talks, the more time I have to recover. _He sets Holly's .45 on the ground next to him.

"Only a moron plays games when he should be fighting," the wanderer snarls. He runs his good hand along the side of his wounded arm. Blood flows between his fingers. There's a lot of it, more than he's comfortable with losing, but he doesn't have any irradiated water in his bag to close the wounds. His bandages aren't going to be any help either. Blood will just soak the damn things before they have a chance to be useful.

"Ah, so he does talk! Good, good. Always more fun when the prey's got some teeth to 'em, know what I'm sayin'? Most of you Wasteland types scare too easy. Fuckin' hell, if I had a cap for every time I heard some friggin' crybaby beg for his life... well, that'd be a lot of caps." Another cackle from the sniper.

"You just shoot anything that moves?"

"And why the fuck wouldn't I? Hell man, you got no idea. Killin' is my fuckin' purpose. And fuckin' is my killin' purpose." The sniper dissolves into a cacophony of shrill laughs. "And purpose is my fuckin' killin'! Oh man, I could do this all day!" A brief silence. "But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I live for the good kills, daddy-o. Them fuck-your-ankles raiders weren't nothin' but nothin'. I mean, that raider bitch was pretty hot and shit, don't get me wrong, but a body is so much easier to fuck when it ain't movin'. That's all the greasy stains are good for anyway." The sniper's tone hardens a little. "You, on the other hand, you is decked to the crazy nines. Gonna make a good kill out of you even if it kills you. Oh shit, should'a bin' a comedian, tell you what."

Gabriel cups his good hand and it fills with a small pool of blood. He's already working out a plan, though it's risky as all hell. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" the wanderer shouts.

"Who am I? Who am I?" The sniper sounds both appalled and unbelieving. "You mean to say that you, some random Wasteland dumbass, have never heard of the great Sam Warrick? I'm offended, I really am!"

Ignoring Warrick's posturing, Gabriel lets the blood pool into his hand until it's almost full. The arm of his combat suit is getting saturated with it. He needs to irradiate the limb before too much blood loss takes its toll.

Meanwhile, Warrick continues in his ranting. "I am the greatest marksman this desert ever birthed! I am the lone wanderer! I am the killer that roams the wastes, killing any and all that cross my killer path! I am a legend! A god! A nightmare! I am a wild child! I'm the Alpha and motherfuckin' Omega! I'm-"

Gabriel laughs heartily and Warrick goes silent. Even as he laughs, the young wanderer's mind is racing. If he screws this up...

"Fuck you," Gabriel says, his voice a little hoarse. "I'm not about to sit here and listen to your bullshit. I'm out."

Gabriel dumps the handful of blood into his mouth and quickly grabs Holly's .45. He places the barrel of the pistol against the dirt and tilts his head back. He can feel the blood sloshing between his teeth and the coppery taste it leaves on his tongue.

_Now or never_, Gabriel thinks.

He pulls the trigger and waits for the punch of the gun going off. In that split-second, Gabriel sprays the blood in his mouth into the air like a fountain. The sound of the gunshot is somewhat muffled as the bullet digs into the dirt, but it's enough to be heard at a distance. The spray of blood... well, Gabriel hopes it's convincing enough. He's not about to actually shoot himself in the head.

For a moment, Gabriel is worried that Warrick hasn't fallen for his trick. But the silence that once filled the air is soon replaced with as steady stream of curses.

"Fuckin' no! What? WHAT? No man, nuh-uh. No fuckin' way you just pulled such a weak. Fuckin'. STUNT!" The sound of a .308 shot pierces the air, but Gabriel doesn't feel or see a bullet impact anywhere near him. Warrick is just shooting for the sake of shooting. Silently and slowly, Gabriel places Holly's .45 on the ground next to him and pulls a grenade from his belt.

"What kind of pussy bullshit was that!" the sniper screams. "You Wasteland types ain't supposed to _do_ shit like that! What the fuck is this world comin' to, when even the daddy-o's are blowin' their fuckin' brains out? Fuckin' fuck, man. Some bull-ass-shit just went down." Warrick's shouting dissolves into a stream of mumbles before tapering off altogether.

Gabriel waits in silence. It's not long before he hears the crunch of boots against the dirt of the Wasteland. Warrick is closing in, slowly but surely.

"Fuckin' mess," the sniper mumbles. "Had some balls doin' that, sure enough. Still bullshit though. Still a bunch of bull-fuggin'-shit. No fun. No fun at all." The sound of footsteps grow closer. With each one, Gabriel's grip on the grenade tightens.

He can hear Warrick sigh. "Might as well see what you had on you, daddy-o. If nothin' else, get some parts and bullets for this ol' bitch. Gonna have to-"

Gabriel pulls the pin and tosses the grenade over the rock. He grabs the .45 off of the ground in that same moment, ignoring the curse that Warrick spits.

The grenade goes off with a bang and Gabriel stands up, the .45 raised an aimed. His left arm hangs limply at his side and his face is covered in a fine layer of blood. He grips the pistol tightly in his hand. The blood has soaked his fingers and made his grip slippery and sticky, but he keeps the gun level.

As it turns out, Gabriel doesn't need the pistol after all.

Warrick is sprawled nearby, in several places. The man's head is still attached to his torso, along with the left leg, but the rest of the sniper's limbs have been blown apart. Gabriel's throw had been spot on. The sniper's rifle lies nearby, damaged somewhat from the grenade explosion but still intact.

What little remains of Warrick is shredded and burnt. Amazingly enough, the sniper is still alive, though only just. His face is a ruined mess and there's half of a pair of sunglasses cocked over his right eye. Whatever hair Warrick had has been burnt off. The ragged torso of a man groans weakly and tries to move the stumps of its arms, but Warrick only succeeds in adding to his pain.

Gabriel sighs heavily and leans down next to the broken, half dead killer. "You ruined my shot," he states, his voice flat. "Really shouldn't have done that."

Warrick mumbles something unintelligible and Gabriel shakes his head. "Man, you should have just minded your own fucking business. Should have left well enough alone." He taps the barrel of Holly's .45 against the side of Warrick's skull. A lot of the flesh and muscle is missing, enough that the warm metal of the pistol's barrel clinks against bare bone.

"I was working, you self-absorbed shit. And you don't-" Gabriel smacks the pistol harder against Warrick's head. "Interrupt." Whack. "A man." Whack. "While." Whack. "He's." Thwack! "WORKING!"_  
_

Gabriel flips the pistol over in his blood-slicked hand so that he's holding the barrel. He brings the pistol's grip down on Warrick's face, over and over again. Blood and bits of bone fly past Gabriel's face as he brutally savages a half-dead psychopath.

Words froth from Gabriel's mouth like spittle, unbidden and uncontrolled. "You could have just walked away, you stupid fuck! I'm trying to help people out here! Trying to do what dear old dad would have wanted, the selfish, abandoning prick!"

Holly's .45 runs thick with blood and brain-matter as Gabriel loses any pretense of control. "I never wanted this!" he screams. "I was supposed to have a normal life, damn everything! I was supposed to fall in love, get married, have kids! I was supposed to be safe from this shit! I was supposed to be happy!"

Warrick has long since been killed, but Gabriel can't stop crushing the man's head with his pistol. It's insanity, pure and simple. Even Fisto!, which is on his working arm and can do the job in a pinch, remains unused.

After a few more moments of mindless bludgeoning, Gabriel's good arm goes limp and the .45 falls from his grip. Gabriel breathes heavily, ignoring the blood that drips from both arms.

"Instead I'm here," he whispers. "I'm out in this hell, killing just about everything I come across just to stay alive. If I'm not getting shot at by dumbasses like you then I'm being hunted by things that want to eat me. I don't know what I am. I don't know who I am. I don't know why I'm here or what I'm doing. I'm scared out of my fucking mind because I've only been killing for a few weeks and it feels like I've been doing it my whole life. There are parts of me that I can't control or understand..." He drifts off, unable to continue.

Gabriel sighs and stands, looking down at Warrick's ruined corpse. "You should've killed me when you had the chance, you stupid bastard."

He reaches down with his good arm and picks up the blood-soaked .45. He's lucky that he hasn't damaged the pistol, especially considering how he just used it. Remembering his wounds and blood loss, Gabriel limps his way over to the nearby riverbed. He finds himself stumbling as he walks. His left arm hands limply at his side as he shuffles toward the toxic river, his salvation.

He falls to his knees at the irradiated bank, like some world-weary pilgrim at the shore of a holy spring. Placing Holly's .45 on the ground, Gabriel scoops up a handful of murky, filthy water and splashes it on his wound. The toxins within the water are going to need monitoring, hopefully they'll pass from his system without much incident, but Gabriel's need to stem blood loss is greater than risk of infection. Hell, with the way his cellular system goes into rapid-response mode when it's exposed to radiation, Gabriel has a feeling that he can filter out most toxins much quicker than normal. He knows for a fact that his blood-loss will be countered somewhat by the radiation, as it did when he was stabbed by Vance. On that occasion, and with over 400 rads in his system, the red-blood cells had been replaced even as they had been lost. It's not nearly as quick now, with his relatively low radiation level, but the irradiated water is the kick-start that his mutation needs. Gabriel imagines for a moment that he can feel the cells replicating at rates far beyond a human norm.

He's his own scientific miracle.

He dribbles more water onto the wound. The pain is still prominent, but Gabriel can feel his flesh knitting itself back together, quickly and efficiently. The bullet is still buried in his arm, but Gabriel will have time to dig it out as soon as the wounds are healed. He needs to wait a moment, let his blood replace itself before attempting any sort of field surgery. The arm is still incredibly sore and the affected muscle still throbs with intermittent pain, but it's manageable.

After a few more splashes of purposeful irradiation, Gabriel slowly drags himself away from the riverbed, picking up Holly's .45 as he goes. He really needs to just take his combat knife and engrave Holly's name into the pistol's grip, just to have it over and done with. He'll never be able to forget the... no, it's not guilt. Guilt implies wrongdoing. Regret is a better word. Regret is fine. Wrong... he can't be wrong. Can't. That would mean...

Gabriel shakes his head and trudges back to the rock where the rest of his gear is, not even slowing as he passes what's left of Warrick's ruined corpse.

He gathers his belongings and spends a moment going through the gear that Warrick and and the raiders have generously donated. He takes Warrick's sniper rifle apart and puts the parts in his bag, followed by a dissembled combat shotgun and parts from both of the raider assault rifles. He snags a few medical supplies (including four syringes of Med-X, hallelujah) and additional ammo for Arkansas and his assault rifle, as well as a bit of un-eaten food and some bottles of irradiated water. He'll have to keep some dirty water handy from now on, for medicinal purposes. It's certainly easier and faster than using bandages. Not that he won't keep the bandages. Waste not, after all.

After searching the raider encampment, Gabriel sits down by the irradiated bank once more and injects himself with another syringe of Med-X and draws his combat knife. He stuffs part of an old leather belt between his teeth (the taste is terrible) and clamps down hard.

He takes a few short breaths through his nose and slices his arm open, ignoring the pain as best he can. He pushes the tip of the knife deeper into the muscle, aiming for the bullet. His arm is almost on fire from the pain, but he simply bites down harder on the leather and continues in his impromptu surgery.

After a few grueling minutes, Gabriel digs the bullet out with his combat knife and closes the wound with another helping of irradiated water. He takes a moment and washes the blood off of his arms and face with a rag that he wets with some of his purified water. There's still a considerable amount that has soaked into the side of his armor, but he doesn't have any Abraxo handy to clean the stains. He'll just have to make due.

Gabriel checks himself over, making sure none of his gear has gone missing in the earlier scuffle. He stretches, flexes his newly-repaired muscle and makes sure that he's ready to move on. Germantown is still his priority, despite the recent distraction.

Blinking with realization, Gabriel pats the front of his armor, feeling for the eyeglasses Kimba had handed him before leaving. He pulls the red-rimmed glasses out from under his armor, checking them over to be sure that they're still in decent shape. If he finds Red, Big Town's doctor, he'll return them. If not...

"Time's a'wasting." Gabriel mutters, Arkansas cradled in his arms.

Still, before heading out, Gabriel takes a moment and carves the name Holly into the grip of the .45 with his combat knife.

* * *

Gallows hardly uses his combat knife.

He keeps one on hand, of course. Works great on Talon Company and other undesirable human targets. Super mutants require a different touch. A blade is nice, sometimes, but it's better to rely on one's own reach in close range combat, especially with a super mutant. One step too far, one foot off balance, that's all it takes to die when fighting mutants. He's seen it happen, again and again. Only a fool or someone with incredible skill fights a super mutant up close. Gallows is no fool.

The others, they describe Gallows as a scout. That's not what Gallows is. Sarah understands. She knows what Gallows is.

Hunter.

Gallows has already killed several abominations since separating from the Pride, some of them shot with his silenced 12.7mm, others with snapped necks and gouged eyes. Two standard mutants, a brute and three of the centaur creatures, if he's keeping track. Which he is. Gallows always keeps track, though not for the same reasons that Glade and Kodiak keep track.

He can see his prey ahead, waiting in ambush for the Pride to round the corner. Smart of the mutants, but also stupid. Though the position they have taken offers superior vantage over the street below, situated as they are on a ruined skyway between the corpses of two buildings, but the mutants could not be more obvious about their occupation. They shuffle about, impatient and in the open. Stupid creatures.

The Knight-Captain is crouched, frozen in place as he surveys the mutants. Laser rifle in hand, he doesn't move a muscle. They super-mutants have him outnumbered three-to-one. Normally good odds for Gallows, but they're all brutes and they're all heavies. Two missile-launchers and a minigun. It's no surprise that this route has suddenly become treacherous.

Gallow's helmet radio buzzes and Sarah's voice crackles in his ear. "Anything around the corner, Gallows?"

Two clicks on his end, the sign for 'Yes, but I can't talk. Too close.'

"Understood," Sarah says, a little quieter than before. "Armaments?"

Two prolonged clicks followed by a quartet of fast clicks.

"Missiles and a mini," Sarah states. "Got it." A pause from the Sentinel. "High or low elevation? Two clicks for high, one for low."

He sends two clicks and the Sentinel swears under-breath. "You think you can get them from where you're at?"

Two clicks.

He can hear the grin in Sarah's voice. "Then it's your show, Gallows. Whenever you're ready."

Gallows slowly raises his laser rifle, knowing that the mutants are more likely to spot quicker movements. His eyes are fixed on his target, a missile reload strapped to the back of one of the launcher-wielding mutants.

He fires once, the bolt of energy enough to pierce the shell of the missile and set off the payload inside. The mutant explodes almost instantly, its back erupting into a flash of smoke and meat. The launcher goes flying from its grip, one arm still wrapped around the weapon, and strikes the minigun mutant right in the stomach. The monster doubles over and vomits blood onto its boots.

The disarray is more than enough for Gallows. He fires once more, drops his rifle to his side and rushes into the fray, ignoring the pained howls and flailing limbs around him.

He passes the minigun mutant by. The creature isn't much of a threat, considering Gallow's second shot has all but vaporized its face. Its weapon abandoned, the blinded mutant stumbles around until it makes a missed step and falls right off of the skyway and into the street below. A small mercy snaps the abomination's neck when it hits the ground.

The third mutant, the last mutant, screams in anger as Gallows smacks its launcher aside. The creature's body is peppered with shrapnel from the explosion and its injured bulk makes it a perfect target.

At close range, even the most injured super-mutant can still pose a threat. Gallows knows this. He's made his mistakes when it comes to fighting mutants, but he's always the one to walk away. He knows mutants better than he knows himself.

So when the massive green fist swings out at him, Gallows knows to duck. When the mutant over-extends its attack, Gallows steps inside of its reach. When it bellows down at him in anger, Gallows draws his pistol and places the silenced barrel into the creature's mouth.

There's a startled look on the monster's eyes just before Gallows pulls the trigger. He can feel the kick of the large pistol and hear the sound of the buzzing bullet as it rips through the mutant's head. The abomination's brains fountain into the air and drizzle on his armor. Gallows lets the body fall to the ground and silently holsters his pistol.

"Nice work," Sarah says over the radio. Gallows looks down and sees the Pride taking position on the street below. Sarah waves up at him.

He nods back. "Meet you down there momentarily, Sentinel. Going to strip these bodies before we head out. Missiles for Glade."

The Paladin laughs over the comm. "Music to my ears, Gallows. See if you can't grab that minigun ammo while you're up there."

Gallows walks back across the skyway and retrieves his laser rifle. He takes a moment to admire the weapon before moving to search the corpses.

"Understood, Paladin. Gallows out."

* * *

"Big ol' sons a'bitches," Gabriel mutters.

He's watching the super mutants through Arkansas' scope. He's prone, having squeezed himself between a pair of large, dusty rocks in order to camouflage himself. The afternoon sun beats down on him, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Hell, the heat of the sun is practically an old friend at this point.

He takes a moment to look from side to side, scanning for any threats on the horizon before turning slightly to look back over his shoulder. It won't do to get ambushed again, no sir.

"Could use a spotter," he mutters. "Sho'nuff."

Back to the super mutants. They're big, lumbering things, yellow-green skin stretched over muscle. Grimaces set with blunt, yellow teeth. Angry, beady eyes that show a layer of rage over a core of stupidity. Each one is wrapped in armor made out of scrap metal, car parts and abused, rusted hardware.

There are four of the monsters, all of them meandering around the church and its cemetery with big, plodding steps. One is considerably bigger than the others, wearing a crested helmet made out of rusty metal strips. The big one is also better armed and armored than the rest. There's an assault rifle strapped across the monster's broad back and its figure is covered by larger, thicker plates of metal.

All the smaller mutants are armed as well. Two of them have hunting rifles, while the third has a bloody sledgehammer tucked under its arm and a pair of grenades at its waist.

Gabriel understands why the idiots- _people_ back at Big Town have had so many problems with the super mutants. Even at a distance they are imposing, large and apparently unafraid of milling about in the open. Even raiders, as stupid as they are, generally have an air of caution about them. Not these things. No, they act like pre-war lions on a savanna. Apex predators, bored until their next hunt.

He studies the mutants from afar, not willing to engage until he deems it necessary. They're dug in well, probably an advance camp before Germantown, if Kimba's directions are anything to go by. The freaks have set up barriers and marked their territory. Large pieces of industrial steel, mainly support beams that have been sliced up and planted into the ground to make spiked barricades. Gabriel marvels a little at the strength it must have taken to drag steel steel beams all this way and then bury them into the earth without construction equipment or vehicles to tow the beams.

Even more unsettling than the barricades are the piles of gore Gabriel can see scattered around the ruins of the church. Some of them are wrapped in bags made out of chain-link fences, others sit out baking in the sun. It's disgusting what the super mutants have done. He-

Gabriel sucks in a breath when one of the gore piles he's been looking at suddenly moves and begins dragging its hideous, bloated form across the ground.

"What in hell?" the wanderer breathes. The monster he's identified is more grotesque than anything he's ever seen before. Like something out a nightmare, the carcass drags itself through the dirt with several misshapen limbs that look like human arms. Bits of broken and misshaped bone have punched their way out of the abomination at irregular intervals, and the flesh itself is the reddish-pink of exposed and filthy muscle The front of the creature rises from its slumped form and...

_It used to be human, _Gabriel realizes, horrified. _It's... that's a human torso at the front. Armless. Eyeless. Oh god..._

It only gets worse. Three horrid, writhing tentacles suddenly burst from the fleshy abomination's mouth. The tentacles twist through the air like the tongues of some eldritch horror. It shuffles along, tentacles guiding it forward like a blind man's cane.

Gabriel nearly vomits. He's done a lot of things and seen a lot of things that would make any man's gorge rise, but he's managed to keep himself composed. This... this is the worst thing he's ever seen. The abomination before him elicits an instinctive disgust and anger more prevalent than anything he's ever felt in his life. Whatever it might have been, the centaur-like creature needs to die.

Then, as if to add to his anger, he spots a second centaur digging its tentacles into a gore bag.

Six freaks in total, if he includes the super mutants. He's only got five rounds in Arkansas' clip. Not enough to snipe all of them in one go. Still, he might be able to keep them disoriented long enough to manage a reload.

Gabriel sets his sights on the biggest super mutant, the one with the heavy armor and the assault rifle. He holds in a breath, waits for his sights to settle, then pulls the trigger.

The mutant's head doesn't explode so much as it erupts, bits of flesh and metal flying everywhere. Each of the monster's limbs follows suit, that strange bloody mess Gabriel seems to affect on his targets, but he doesn't have time to think about it. One of the mutants cries out in anger, but they haven't spotted him yet.

_Thank god for this silencer,_ Gabriel thinks as he blows a mutant's throat apart. The monster falls to the ground, its hunting rifle clattering beneath it. The other two mutants and their centaur watchdogs are moving with purpose now, searching for the hidden sniper.

_Still in the open, you idiots_. He takes careful aim and snipes the sledgehammer mutant's grenade. The penetration and friction of the shot is enough to set the explosive off. The mutant explodes with a satisfying bang.

Down to three freaks left, Gabriel lines up his sights on one of the centaur creatures. Its tentacle/tongues squirm through the air as it quickly shuffles around and searches for its target. It's almost as though the abomination is tasting the air in order to-

Gabriel's instincts are what save him. The centaur suddenly turns its bulk and spits a wad of acid from the center of its tentacled maw. The brown-green bile flies through the air with lethal swiftness before striking at the rock on Gabriel's left. The stone bubbles and sizzles from the impact. Gabriel quickly stands and rolls out of the way as another gob of acidic spit strikes ground where he was once prone.

His movement doesn't go unnoticed, and he can hear the triumphant cry from the remaining super mutant and the crack of its hunting rifle. The monster's aim is horrible as its large hands are unable to properly sight the small rifle. Having to shoot from the hip doesn't diminish the mutant's enthusiasm, however, and it bellows a mocking cry as it fires again, the second shot wider than the first.

Gabriel, for his part, rolls behind a large rock and switches Arkansas for his assault rifle. The mutant is only a problem if it gets close, but he can hear the splash of acid on the other side of his rock. The centaurs are unnervingly accurate with their spitting.

He takes a moment to breathe before shifting to lean out of cover. He'll deal with the big one first, then the spitters. It's-

"PUNY HUMAN!"

Gabriel's eyes go wide as he realizes that the mutant is charging. It's only a few steps away, its rifle held over its head like a club.

He rolls back just as the butt of the rifle swings down. The mutant howls in anger, spittle flying out of its mouth in frothy torrents. It's hate-filled eyes follow the human's movements and it charges again, swinging the hunting rifle like a baseball bat.

Gabriel dodges a pair of blows and tries to bring up his assault rifle to shoot the mutant in the face, but the monster is simply too quick in its assault. He settles for shooting the abomination in its left knee. Blood flies out of the wound and the mutant screams its pain, but it amazingly remains standing.

It's as though the gunshot has triggered some kind of berserk reflex. The mutant charges in, its impromptu cudgel forgotten, and slams into Gabriel with all the grace of a runaway mail car.

The breath is gone from Gabriel's lungs before he can even process the attack. His assault rifle flies from his grip and he hit sends him sprawling into the dirt several feet away from his attacker. He blinks once. Twice. _Holy crap._

"ME KILL YOU!" the mutant screams as its lumbers forward, tossing its rifle aside. It closes quickly, intent on smashing the meal that has killed its kin. Each step brings with it the sound of a heavy footfall. It's this rumbling, stomping sound that rouses Gabriel from his stunned stupor long enough to realize that death is as close as it's ever been.

He rolls weakly out of the way as the mutant's booted foot stamps down. Still sprawled in the dirt, Gabriel lashes out with Fisto!, the power fist's pneumatics hissing as the impact plate catches the abomination's ankle. The blow would have been weak if not for the power fist, as Gabriel is still desperately trying to gain both his breath and footing.

Still, Fisto!'s impact is still enough to shatter the bones in the mutant's foot. Coupled with its bullet-ridden knee, the green titan finally staggers, enough for Gabriel to rise to his feet, take a deep breath, and swing Fisto! in an uppercut.

One moment the monster is there in front of him. The next, everything in Gabriel's field of vision goes red as the mutant explodes, showering the young man in putrid ropes of stinking gore. Gabriel swears loudly as he is coated in a fine layer of red and is rewarded with a mouthful of hot blood for his trouble. Swearing and spitting, Gabriel wipes his eyes (the fingers also sticky with blood and doing a poor job of cleaning the mess) and looks around for his assault rifle. He spots the gun nearby and instinctively moves to grab it, knowing he still has the centaur creatures to deal with.

Sure enough, Gabriel has only a moment to catch his breath and calm himself before the centaurs drag themselves into view. Their tentacle tongues thrash with agitation and they are quick to assault the human with their acidic spit.

Gabriel dodges the deluge and rolls into a marksman's crouch. A pair of three-round-bursts to the head are enough to kill the closest centaur and the bullets rip through the creature and a pair of its tentacles. The monster slumps to the ground, its awful body stilled at last.

The last abomination continues to drag itself toward Gabriel, but a burst of sustained fire is enough to put the centaur down. As the last of the fighting dies down, Gabriel takes a deep breath and checks the surrounding area. The last thing he wants is to be ambushed now, especially after all that effort.

"Covered in blood," he mutters, as though the warmth of the gore that's coated his front isn't reminder enough. The wanderer sets his rifle on the ground and digs into his rucksack with one hand while he wipes away the muck on his face with the other. His bag-occupied hand surfaces with the rag he used earlier, still damp from its previous usage. The stained bit of cloth smells a little, but wasteland beggars can't be choosers.

"That's twice today," he snarls as wets the rag once more. "Damn everything."

Gabriel wipes himself down as well as he can, knowing that he'll need more than just a quick wipe in order to get the red stains out of his armor. Still, after getting most of his skin cleared and squeezing what gore he can out of his well-soaked hair, Gabriel assembles his gear and is ready to move on the church itself, if only to see if any of Big Town's residents have been taken to the super mutant encampment.

He wants to take samples from the monsters, if only to see exactly what they are/might have been, but time isn't on his side. The gore bags that litter the outpost are a very prominent reminder as to what the super mutants are capable of. The hostages take priority this time.

_Priority,_ he thinks. _Sure. Whatever that means. You don't care._

He jogs past the corpses of the freshly dead abominations, only stopping by the large, brutish one in order to secure a few rounds for his assault rifle and some working replacement parts. He steps into the ruined church after his quick scavenge and almost vomits right there. The smell of rotting flesh is awful and intense.

The church itself is barely standing aside from the front of the building itself and a few walls. The pews have long since been destroyed and an entire section of the back wall has collapsed inward, exposing the entirety of the building's interior to the mercy of the elements. Walls of peeling paint that might have been white at some point, broken windows with teeth of jagged glass. It's a depressing scene. The house of a dead God in a dead land, smeared with blood and excrement.

A fairly noticeable tripwire catches Gabriel's attention and he disarms it with a quick flick of his combat knife. The drum-fed shotgun it was attached to is his next target and he quickly disassembles the weapon and stuffs the parts into his duffel bag. A few other treasures are found among piles of gore and the shattered masonry. Some additional medical supplies. A _Big Book of Science,_ only a few appendix pages missing. Bullets for his assault rifle, Holly and a trio of grenades. It's a decent haul.

Something moans nearby.

Holly is in his hand before Gabriel even realizes he's reacted to the sound. He shifts his gaze to the rear of the gutted church, on a point where several bags of gore have been piled against the wall that's still standing. He can see a few ramshackle cages made from pre-war shopping carts as well. The mutants might not be any sort of intelligent, but they have certainly adapted to their situation.

Another moan and Gabriel rises from his scavenger's crouch. Pistol held in his left hand, Fisto! ready on the right, Gabriel slowly walks toward the source of the sound. He finds what he's looking for and wishes he hadn't.

"God," he breathes, the sound of his voice lost in the stink of the dead church.

It's a man. Part of one, at any rate. Stripped bare, skin rife with lesions and cuts, the mutant's victim is little more than a torso with a head still attached. There's hardly anything left. Bloodshot eyes roll madly in their sockets and dry, dead lips moan and mumble.

It's easily the most horrible thing Gabriel has ever seen.

_They've been eating him, _he realizes with a cold, numbing horror. _Keeping him alive and cutting off what they wanted, a little at a time. They-_

His thoughts are interrupted as his stomach threatens to rebel and unleash its already meager contents onto Gabriel's boots. He sways a little before steadying himself, but the smell of gangrenous flesh and the sheer horror of the situation nearly win out. In the end though, a few deep breaths through his mouth and a steady count to ten are enough to calm the young wanderer down.

The... victim at his feet continues to moan, in pain but not really aware or alive. Whatever the man was, raider or slaver, caravan guard or wandering junk-peddler, there's nothing left but this shell. A husband? A father? A son? Gabriel will never know.

He kneels close to the torso and sighs heavily. "Sorry," he mutters, as though that somehow makes up for the suffering that radiates off of the man. "I'll make it quick. Least I can do."

He presses Holly's cold barrel against the flesh of the prisoner's forehead and pulls the trigger, a hand held up to block the swift spatter of warm blood that jumps up toward his face. The limbless body stills quickly, the corpse finally catching up with the mind.

It's a lesson brutally learned. There are horrors out in the Wasteland that Gabriel is only just discovering, and the things they are capable of are more than enough to make him physically ill.

_Can't dwell on it,_ the voice in his head states. _Have to move on. Have to get out there, take these things down. Save the hostages if we can. Eliminate the threat either way._

He exits the church without a word, leaving the corpses to rot in the sun.

* * *

The sun beats down on Sarah's head, but it's a nice feeling. It feels like victory.

A successful run with no casualties. She can't really ask for anything more than that. Well, there's the mess of dead super mutants, but that's always just the icing on the proverbial cake.

They're at the outskirts of the Jefferson Memorial, resting down by the banks of the Potomac. The river itself is still relatively unmolested this close to the mouth of the Atlantic, but every drop of water it contains is irradiated. Toxic water or not, the sound of water flowing down to the coast is more than enough to lighten her mood and wash away some of the adrenaline she's built up.

She pings Gallows' radio. The Knight-Captain is scouting ahead, dealing with the few super mutants left on the road to Rivet City. Sarah can see the damaged aircraft carrier turned city in the distance. The sounds of people working can be heard even from where she's at. Rivet City is one of the few settlement in the Wasteland that is considered safe from super mutant incursions, even though the aircraft carrier is located at the very edge of the DC ruins. There are over 500 people living aboard the derelict ship and that number grows daily as more people seek refuge within the aging vessel.

"Gallows," she says quietly. "All good on your end?"

"Nearly finished," he buzzes back. She hears a single laser blast on his end of the radio. "Finished. Route should be clear. Left a few surprises if they decide to come back."

"Good work, regroup up with us and we'll head back to the Citadel."

"Understood. Back in five. Gallows out."

Sarah cradles her rifle in her hands and watches as Glade and Dusk do quick maintenance checks on their weapons. Jennings and Redding are arguing over which of them has the higher kill-count. Vargas approaches slowly, a thin smile on his humorless face.

"Congratulations, Sentinel," the Paladin-Commander says, standing next to Sarah as he looks out over the bay. "Can't ask for a better run than that. They did well."

Sarah smiles and elbows Vargas lightly. "They have your recommendation, then?"

A snort of disbelief slips past Vargas' lips. "Hardly. They've got a ways to go before they're even close to Pride-worthy."

"But?"

"But they did good. They follow orders and didn't give me any grief. That's as good a starting point as any."

Sarah looks over her shoulder at the Initiates. Redding reaches out and pushes Jennings' chestplate, forcing him back a step. Jennings swears loudly and retaliates, pushing on Redding's chestplate.

"So much for the lack of grief," Vargas sighs as he angrily stomps off toward the Initiates, barking threats and accusations of stupidity. Sarah chuckles a little and shifts her gaze back to the sunlight glinting off of the dirty water.

She takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes. How long has it been since she's just looked out on the water like this? Months, at least. It was always Cain's favorite way to spend down time. Just sitting up on the Citadel ramparts, looking out over the ocean.

_"Just look out at all that,"_ he'd say, a far away look in his eyes. _"I bet it goes on forever.__"_

_"World's flat, Nathan," _she'd retort, a dry smile on her lips.

He'd tap two fingers against the side of his head, grinning at her as he did so. _"Not in here," _he'd say softly, _"In here, the ocean goes on forever. In here, nothing ever ends. Not that water. Not you. Not me."_

Looking out at the water now, Sarah wishes that it was true.

She sighs heavily and cracks her neck to one side. She can dwell on it later, after her Pride is back at the Citadel in one piece.

"All right," she says into her radio. Every eye turns her way. Every ear is trained on her voice, her orders. "Gallows will be back momentarily. We're off as soon as he gets back. Make your gear checks quick."

And they do. It's not surprising, really.

She is the boss, after all.

* * *

Red hopes that the mutants will kill her quickly, if nothing else.

She knows it's only been a few hours since her abduction, but a few hours is more than enough time to lose hope when hope isn't something she's felt in years. No, helplessness and fear have been her only companions since leaving Little Lamplight.

Shorty, from his cell a few paces away, has been silent since running out of curses. They're the only ones left. No words of comfort pass between the friends, even though they have known each other most of their lives. There's only the silence of impending death and the stink of fear, along with the occasional heavy stride of a patrolling super mutant.

Speaking of super mutants.

One of the monstrosities stomps into the room and the floor trembles beneath each tread. Red recognizes the mutant as the leader of the group, as it's the biggest mutant she's ever seen. It actually has to crouch and shift its body in order to fit through the large doorway. The mutant itself is all but wrapped in metal. Large sheets of it have been carved up and layered across its torso and legs like some kind of junkyard samurai. Its arms are uncovered save for a pair of large metal strips wrapped around its lower knuckles; makeshift steel knuckledusters. Its boots are stinking brahmin hide and are festooned with the clattering skulls of human, animal and mutant victims. Red can see the rusted handle of a super sledge sticking behind the mutant's right shoulder.

The mass of metal and muscle stomps toward her cage, staring at her with the usual super mutant grimace. The monsters seem incapable of making any other kind of expression. Still, it's eyes do more than enough to show Red what the super mutant is feeling.

It's hungry.

"Not eat you," the mutant declares after a moment of staring and heavy mouth-breathing. "You make good us. We put you in green stuff. Make you us." With that said, the mutant walks away, radroaches scattering as it plods across the room to Shorty's cell.

The previously silent young man all but bursts into loud, obnoxious protest. "Oh no," the small human says, backing away from the bars. "No way, freak show. Go suck a deathclaw's talons, I'm not some snack for you to munch on."

The mutant's disgusting tongue slathers across its yellowed teeth. "Snack... little human make good snack. Crunch on bones!" It reaches out with both of its massive hands and rips the cell door off of its hinges.

To Shorty's credit, the young human does try to make a run for it. He dances away from the mutant's reaching hand and aims for a bit of space between the abomination's side and the cell door. Unfortunately, a giant hand snatches him off of the ground before he makes it more than a few steps.

Red buries her face in her hands and begins to weep. It's all over. She's alone and afraid, helpless. She can hear Shorty's curses as the mutant drags him away, down into the bowels of the hellish police station. She continues to weep even after Shorty's protests are no longer audible. She continues to weep, to blur her already blurry vision with tears, because she can't do anything else.

She's still crying when the station's alarms begin to blare, each klaxon like the bellow of an angry god.

* * *

_Hope to God this works,_ Gabriel thinks.

The trio of mutants outside were a challenge, but he's learned quick that luring the monsters into killzones and traps are the way to go when putting super mutants down. The massive amount of fencing in front of the Germantown Police HQ, a pre-war attempt to funnel quarantine victims and refugees, had been used to lure the mutants one by one into the sights of his sniper rifle. And one by one, Arkansas' cough had blown their brains out all over the ruined sidewalks.

Now he's in the thick of it though. Not much light, not much room to maneuver. Both Arkansas and his assault rifle have been strapped to his back. His sidearms are comfortable at his sides, ready for use if the situation demands it. He's reassembled one of the drum-fed combat shotguns and has it cradled in his grip as the klaxons blare overhead, startling the radroaches and setting off a chorus of confused super mutant shouts.

_At least three up here,_ he thinks as he readies himself in the center of the dispatch room. Gabriel takes cover behind an old bar-height counter that's covered in old computers and layers of dust. Super mutants apparently have little to do with tech outside of weapons and explosives. He's already disabled a few landmines on his journey into the building, and he's re-armed them and placed the mines within the doorways of the room he's in. Both entrances covered, Gabriel waits for the mutants to stumble into his trap.

Sure enough, he can hear the thundering footfalls of a super mutant on approach. A smaller specimen with a sledgehammer, the mutant all but bursts into the room from the doorway at Gabriel's left. In response, the landmine blows both of its legs off. The rest of the body flops into the air in a gesture as comical as it is gory. It lands with a thud in the shattered doorway and stills.

Another bellow splits the air, this time from the opposite doorway. The mine goes off just as the mutant gets a bead on Gabriel, this one larger and holding an assault rifle. The explosion sets something off on the brute, likely a grenade or two, and the entire mutant disappears in a bang of shrapnel and gore, its weapon spinning across the room like a propeller.

The klaxon blares one last time before shutting off.

_Two down, one to- _Gabriel raises his shotgun. _There you are._

He waits until the monster shuffles its way through the doorway before standing and firing. The mutant, who has been navigating its bulk past the corpse of its fellow in the left doorway, doesn't even get a chance to look up before it meets a spread of buckshot with the greater portion of its head. Gore and brain matter paint the ceiling and the lifeless body drapes itself over its deceased kin.

He takes a moment and breathes deep. His nose savors over the smell of blood and spent gunpowder. He knows what's happening. The rush of killing, the adrenaline, his body is reacting to the stimuli in an encouraging way. He can imagine the synapse connections forming, building stronger bridges between memory and reflex, honing his killing skills with everything he learns.

_Pick up the pace, Gabe-my-boy. People to save, places to be._

The voice in his head prompts him onward. Gabriel moves gingerly past the exploded brute, grabbing some assault rifle ammo on the way. A few shots from his laser pistol are enough to scare off the radroaches as he slinks through the rubble. He half expects mutants to ambush him at every turn, he's caused no small amount of damage, after all, but none do. There's nothing but the scurrying of radroaches and the occasional crumble of centuries-old mortar.

Shotgun ready in his hands, Gabriel slowly sneaks deeper into the building, his eyes scanning each room he passes. They're empty, for the most part. A few gore bags tucked into the corners, surrounded by buzzing flies. The hallway he's in is dark save for a few flickering lights. At the end of the hall is a door, the one he tried to pick from the outside (unsuccessfully). He-

Jail cells.

They're off to his right, and he can see someone in the cell closest to the door. The figure is curled into a ball in the corner to Gabriel's right, and he can hear muted sobs coming from the prisoner's form.

He moves in slowly, cautious. He has no idea what the prisoner is capable of, or even if he or she is stable. He taps the barrel of his shotgun against the metal bars. "Hey," he says, softly enough that it's a whisper but loud enough so it can be heard. "Hey, you in there. You okay?"

The prisoner stops mid-sob and goes still for a moment. Very slowly, it raises its head and looks out at him.

"Are you..." she sobs. He knows it's a she just by the sound of her voice. "Are you real?"

She moves toward him a little and the light catches her form. Young woman, dark skin. Brown eyes stained red with tears. Dark hair cropped short. A red jumpsuit over a white t-shirt. Kimba's friend Red, Big Town's resident medic.

"I'm real," he asserts, rising from his crouch. He reaches into a pouch on his belt and pulls out a pair of weathered but well-cared-for eyeglasses. He holds them out to her, his hand reaching between the bars.

"I'm here to get out you, Red."

* * *

She stares at him. Red can't believe what's happening. For a minute she wonders if he's just a figment of her imagination, a vision come to console her as she slips into madness.

But, as he reaches through the bars, her glasses in his outstretched fingers, a glimmer of hope shines through dark clouds of fear that have built up around her mind.

She takes the glasses and quickly slips them onto her face. Everything is so much clearer now.

Red blinks back the tears that threaten to form and gets a good look at her rescuer. He's young, probably around her age, with a dark mop of unsettled black hair. He's wearing a suit of bloodstained combat armor and Red can see at least five different weapons on him. There's a power fist on his right arm and some kind of wrist computer on his other. His eyes, bright blue and severe, fix her own. Something about him is more frightening than the super mutants.

The soft authority of his voice snaps Red out of her staring. "Do they keep a key around or something? Not much of a rescue if you're stuck behind bars."

Her voice nearly breaks when she speaks, but she manages to keep a semblance of calm. Talking to an actual person is helping. "I was out cold when they brought us here. When I woke up I was already locked in here. I don't know if there's a key or if one of them is carrying it. The big one busted down Shorty's door in order to get to him." She points at the crumpled remains of the cell door.

"I'll see if I can pick the lock," her rescuer says as he reaches into a pouch at his belt and pulls out some bobby pins. "Though if the last door I tried to pick is any indication of the lock-strength in this place, I'll probably have to tear down the door myself."

Red watches in silence as the young man fumbles to pick the lock, swearing under breath as he breaks one pin and then a second. The third time is the charm, and Red's rescuer slides her cell door open with a grunt. "C'mon," he says, urgency in his voice. "We need to get you back to town. This place isn't safe."

Red nods and follows him out of the cell. Freedom is all she can think about as she steps past the door the had once confined her. Tears begin pouring down her face and there's nothing she can do to stop them.

Her rescuer notices and his gaze hardens. "Christ... keep it together, Red. Neither of us will get out alive if you lose it."

Red wipes her tears onto her sleeve. "Sorry, I just... Sorry."

Her rescuer sighs and shakes his head. "It's fine. Just keep quiet, stay close, do everything I tell you and we'll make it out of here." He looks down at the shotgun in his arms and then at the assault rifle on his back. "You know how to use a gun?"

Red nods silently. She's almost dumbstruck when he grudgingly hands over his combat shotgun. "Take it. It's got eleven more shells in the drum. I've got another two drums in my bag if you need them. You lose it and you'll regret it, understood?"

"Yeah, I get it." She takes the shotgun from his hands and watches as he quickly pulls the assault rifle from his back. "Who are you?" she asks, still somewhat dumbfounded that she's actually being rescued.

"Gabriel Matthews. Kimba and the others sent me. You're all that's left, I take it?"

"They killed Crunchy and Bigshot," she says, tears threatening the edges of her eyes. "They took Shorty a few minutes ago. Then the alarm went off... was that you?"

Gabriel nods. "Useful distraction. I didn't see your friend anywhere, but I did see a staircase that lead to a basement or sub-level. Think they might have taken him down there?"

"They killed Bigshot up here," she states, "But I think it was an accident. I heard Crunchy screaming from somewhere below. It's probably where they took Shorty. I haven't... haven't heard him scream."

"Might be alive," Gabriel mutters, as though mulling over the idea in his head. After a moment of silence, he locks eyes with Red once more. "Okay, we'll see if your friend is still among the living. I killed three mutants outside and three inside. How many more are there?"

Red's hands shake a little, but the weight of the shotgun in her grip is a comfort. "A raiding party left about an hour ago, at least six of them. I could hear them stomping outside. If you killed the ones outside and the ones on this floor, then I think there's only the big one left."

"Big one?"

"It's huge," Red explains, her hands gripping tightly around the shotgun. "Massive, bigger than the others. I think it's the one in charge. It had to duck just to fit through the doorway and it had one of those super sledges on its back."

Gabriel curses quietly and looks at the computer on his wrist. "Okay, here's the plan. We go down, see if your friend is alive, then if we can, we grab him and make for Big Town. Understood?"

Red nods quickly, though fear is heavy in her eyes. "Got it. I'll follow you." She makes to follow but stops mid-step as a thought crosses her mind. "What happens if we come across the big one?"

He levels a gaze at her, one that screams 'You're kidding, right?' and holds his assault rifle in the crook of his arm. "Simple. We kill it."

She shakes her head, eyes closed. "It's not that easy. It's all muscle and armor. I don't think there was an inch of it that wasn't covered in metal."

Gabriel checks the clip on his rifle. "Anything over its face?"

"No, but it was wearing a metal helmet. Look, we can't just-"

"Then I'll shoot it in the face," Gabriel declares, some vehemence entering his voice. "We don't have time to debate this, Red. Either we look for your friend or we leave him behind. Are you in or what?"

She considers protesting, but then remembers that Shorty wouldn't have hesitated in the slightest if he knew there was a chance at rescuing one of his friends. That foreign feeling, hope, rises through her and shines behind her eyes.

The two humans slowly make their way through the ruined building and down toward the staircase to the sub-level. Gabriel forces himself to move slower in order to allow Red to keep pace. She's breathing heavily, the poor thing. Scared out of her mind, likely.

"Breathe through your nose," Gabriel instructs, his voice barely a whisper. "Calm down and breathe through your nose."

Red follows Gabriel's instructions and starts breathing through her nostrils. She's a little shocked by how much quieter she is after doing so. She does her best to follow Gabriel's pace of steady silence, but rubble and her own nervousness make it a difficult endeavor.

The humans slowly make their way down the set of stairs leading to the basement. Gabriel holds his assault rifle at the ready and Red marvels at how he can keep his upper body so still while his legs shift and bend beneath him as he moves in a low crouch. Red has a hard enough time staying crouched while she moves and the heavy shotgun in her hands isn't helping the situation. Before she realizes it, they're at the door.

"Keep it quiet," Gabriel tells her. She nods in confirmation and he slowly pushes the door open.

The smell hits her like the swat from a super mutant. It's beyond awful, the sickening odor of rotting flesh and the ammonia-heavy stink of fecal matter. Either one of those smells is enough to make Red queasy, but the two combined is enough to make her pitch forward, the contents of her stomach rising in response.

There's a hand over her mouth just as she starts to wretch. At first Red panics, thinking that her rescuer is trying to kill her as the vomit pools in her mouth and sprays out between her lips, but then she realizes that his fingers are splayed so as to let the bile pass between them.

"It's okay," Gabriel reassures her, even while she expels the contents of her stomach into his hand. "Just let it out. Let it out but keep quiet."

Red nods just as another wave of nausea overcomes her. A fresh jet of vomit rises in her throat and sprays out between his fingers. Through the eye-watering haze of sickness, Red can see Gabriel's face. There's no disgust there, to her numbed surprise. No judgement. It's like he expected this to happen.

A few dry heaves later and Gabriel finally pulls his hand away. Red slumps to the ground, shotgun in her lap, dizzy from the experience.

After a moment's rest, she looks up at Gabriel, who is wiping the vomit from his hand and power fist with a damp cloth. That same bland expression is on his face and he's acting as though nothing has happened. He discards the rag when he's done and pulls a fresh one out of his bag before handing it to Red.

"Clean yourself up," he says quietly. She takes the rag and wipes the sick off of her face and the front of her jumpsuit. Her hands are shaking as she cleans herself, but Red manages to calm down after she focuses on the cleanup. Once she's done, she meekly hands the rag back to Gabriel, who tosses it aside like he did with the other.

"No point keeping that thing around," he states, his voice still low. He looks at Red expectantly and then pulls a bottle of water and a handful of brahmin jerky out of his bag. "Spit the first mouthful to get the taste out of your mouth," he instructs as he hands the bottle over. "Drink as much as you need to after that. Once you're done, I'll give you some of the jerky."

Red obliges silently. After a quick spit she gulps down the water with reckless abandon, pausing only to hand the empty bottle back to her rescuer. She receives three strips of jerky for her trade and quickly munches them down.

He allows Red a few more moments to compose herself before suggesting that they move on and Red nods in confirmation. Gabriel reaches into his bag once more (she's starting to wonder if he's got every useful thing in the wasteland tucked into its confines) and pulls out a box of old flu masks. He hands one to her before donning one himself. Red slips the mask over her mouth and almost immediately begins to feel better now that the smell of the place has been deadened somewhat. She follows Gabriel's slow crouch and the pair steer themselves through the remains of an old firing-range, lights flickering and floor covered in gore, blood and mutant waste. Radroaches scurry about on clicking legs, diving into the piles of filth with insectoid glee. Red keeps her gaze firmly rooted on the space between Gabriel's shoulders. She certainly doesn't want to be sick now, not with a mask over her mouth.

Her gaze fixed on her rescuer, Red is quick to stop when Gabriel halts in his advance and holds up a hand. Perfectly still, Red can hear voices from further into the basement. One of them is brutish and snarling. The other-

"That's Shorty!" she exclaims, almost forgetting to keep her voice down. Gabriel turns back to glare at her and she immediately looks away. "He... I almost didn't think he'd be alive," she whispers.

She looks back up at Gabriel and he nods, almost apologetic. "Keep quiet and we'll get your friend out. Follow me." He moves on an Red is quick to follow, at least as quick as she can be while still retaining some semblance of stealth.

Red follows an incredibly patient and quiet Gabriel down a dark hallway. She can hear the voices ahead, each word adding to her already increasing sense of urgency. She can make out the words now the grunting from the mutant and the protests of her friend.

"-tons of body parts laying around," Shorty states, his voice somewhat panicked. "Why don't you just eat some of those?"

"Not fresh," the mutant grunts, as though perplexed by the idea of having a conversation with a potential meal. "Not tasty like fresh meat. No, you better. Make better snack. Tasty."

A flash of Shorty's usual mouth surfaces for a brief moment. "I hope you choke on my bones, you big shit-for-brains."

Red gulps silently as the mutant's roar fills the air. "YOU SHUT UP NOW!"

They're close now, Red and Gabriel. She can see the mutant's flickering shadow coming from the room ahead. A moment later she gets a glimpse of the abomination's back. Gabriel sees it as well and stops, trading his assault rifle for the large handgun holstered under his arm.

"Oh god," Shorty exclaims, his words accented by shaky fear. "Kill me quick, at least. For fuck's sake! Don't do to me what you did to the others!"

The mutant laughs, slowly and horribly, as Gabriel reaches the doorway. He holds his pistol firmly in his left hand, power fist tight and ready in his right. Red watches as her rescuer stands in the doorway, pistol pointed between the monster's shoulder blades.

"Hey ugly," Gabriel says loudly. Red watches as the mutant swings around, only to find itself staring down the barrel of the .45. Its eyes widen in rage just before Gabriel fires three times directly into the monster's face. The mutant's head explodes after the second shot, the third is just to make sure the bastard is actually dead.

The massive corpse falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Gabriel keeps his pistol raised, searching for more targets, but there's only the busy scurrying of the radroaches.

Red's rescuer looks over his shoulder at her and nods, holstering his pistol. "All clear." It's all she needs to hear in order to proceed into the next room, shotgun cradled in her arms.

Red looks around the room and sees Shorty on his knees, hands tied behind his back with a bit of old rope. He's filthy and one of the straps on his overalls have popped free, but he's alive and no worse for wear. He looks up at her, disbelief etched into his face like it's been written there. "What's with the masks?" he mutters, as though the lack of impending death is a disappointment.

Red nods through the tears in her eyes. "We're going home, Shorty."

He sighs heavily and takes a deep breath. "Not the most thrilling thing to hear, considering what home is like, but I'll take it. Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Gabriel yanks his combat knife from his boot with his right hand and cuts the filthy rope binding Shorty's wrists. The young man (Shorty can't be any older than Gabriel is), rises to his feet, Red holding out an arm for support. He's a disheveled mess, all in all. There are dark lines under his eyes from either stress or lack of sleep (or both, if the status of Big Town is any indicator), and his clothes, a white shirt and a pair of dirty grey overalls over old black work boots, are filthy. His hair has been trimmed into a ridiculously tall flat-top, probably to add a few inches to his abysmal height. All in all, Red's young friend doesn't look like much of anything, certainly not anything worth risking his life over.

So it's with some irritation that Gabriel hands his assault rifle over to the pipsqueak along with a pair of clips. "Keep close, check your shots and conserve ammo. You lose this gun or damage it in any way and I'll make sure you regret it. You understand?"

The diminutive wastelander nods and accepts the proffered weapon and ammo. "Don't worry about me," he exclaims. "I was part of the scav team when me and Red lived in Little Lamplight. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm worried about my gun," Gabriel states as he ejects the clip on his pistol and adds a few rounds to it. "Now, if we're all done here, let's get you two back to Big Town. This place isn't getting any safer."

A cocky Shorty racks the slide on Gabriel's assault rifle and nods. "All right, let's move out!"

He jogs out of the room without another word. Red quickly turns to Gabriel, a worried look in her eyes. "You're just going to let him run off?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "Wait for it," he says flatly.

Red listens for a moment and then-

"Oh god, who did this?"

The sound of Shorty's retching fills the air as he upends his stomach in the next room. The whisper of a smile curls the right side of Gabriel's mouth and Red glares at him with disdain. "Was that really necessary?" she snaps as the two of them make to follow Shorty's advance.

"Not really," Gabriel states as he pulls a flu mask and a fresh rag from his duffel bag.

"But it made me feel a little better," he admits a moment later.

* * *

"Feel better now, Sentinel?" Glade asks as the Pride makes its way back through the gates of the Citadel. Gallows is out scouting again, but he'll be back later.

"Much," Sarah says, her laser rifle resting across her shoulders. "I needed that like you wouldn't believe, Glade. I needed to get out there and actually do something."

"That's the spirit," the Paladin says happily, his missile launcher strapped to his back. He's got a pair of ammo boxes cradled under his arms and a quartet of missile reloads bundled together in a bag slung over his shoulder. "Good to bring back a decent haul like this too. Not everyday Gallows stumbles across an ammo dump."

Dusk jogs up alongside Glade and slows her pace. "I'm just glad we had the newbies here to drag the stuff back." She looks over her shoulder at Vargas and the Initiates. "You doing okay back there, Commander?"

"Doing just fine," Vargas says, an ammo box under his left arm. "You should probably ask the newbies that question.

Dusk stifles a laugh as she turns with Sarah and Glade to look at the Initiates. Wearing any suit of power armor, even the outdated T-45d, gives its user a significant increase in strength, so any normal burden attributed to carrying heavy ordinance is marginalized. However, a T-45d is, at its core, an awkward shell of metal. To those who haven't trained with power armor as much as Brotherhood veterans, lugging ordinance can be both tedious to those carrying it and hilarious to those watching. And, being the good sports that they are, the rest of the Pride have generously allowed their Initiates to carry the rest of the ammo stockpile Gallows uncovered.

Redding and Jennings... well it's almost a comedy routine. Each of them is carrying six boxes of ammo and they might as well be juggling rippers with how uncoordinated their movements are. They've been fine up until now, but the slope up to the Citadel's main gate is proving a bit much for the overladen Initiates.

Jennings, ever the optimist, has opted to carry all of his boxes in a tall stack that obscures his vision. Every misstep slip sends the topmost boxes falling to the ground, and every attempt to pick them back up is met with more frustration as the rest of the boxes follow suit. Still, he's making progress, even if it's slow and often interrupted.

Redding is having a better time of it, but not by much. She's got three boxes under each arm, braced between her arms and her sides, and is making her way up the slope to the Citadel one step at a time. It's all she can do to manage the awkward waddle she has to perform in order to make any sort of progress. Each step is matched by a profound swear that is filtered through her helmet speakers.

Sarah, Dusk and Glade do their best to keep themselves contained, but when a stumbling Jennings collides with a shuffling Redding and the pair send ammo boxes flying, it's all the veterans can do to keep from dying of laughter. Even Vargas, that old stoic, offers a small smile and a shake of his head. Redding and Jennings are sprawled in the dirt, tangled together like armored ragdolls. The former is swearing up a storm while the latter is apologizing profusely.

The moment dies down as the Initiates scramble to rise and gather the scattered ammo boxes. Sarah, amusement still evident on her face, whistles sharply. Both Redding and Jennings turn almost instantly, stopping mid-ammo collection.

"Gather up the ammo and head down to the armory. Last one to get sorted with Quartermaster Durga gets armor-cleaning duties. Hop to it."

The Sentinel turns her back on the scrambling Initiates and walks past the ever on-guard Paladin Bael and into the Citadel proper. Dusk and Glade follow, with Vargas bringing up the rear.

Dusk snorts out the last few spurts of laughter before speaking. "You're making this way too much fun, Ma'am."

"I'll second that," Glade says with a chuckle. "I-"

"Eat my ass, Jennings!"

Redding stomps past as quick as she can waddle, her ammo boxes tucked securely under her arms. Behind them, Jennings lets out a mournful wail as he falls over once more and scatters his cargo.

Another bout of laughter washes over the Pride veterans, and Glade can't stay standing this time. He thumps to the ground butt-first, holding his armored sides. "Oh god, no more," the Paladin stammers. "I can't... Just leave me here, Sentinel. I'm not gonna make it." He doubles over again and laughter blares from the speakers of his helmet.

Sarah pulls Glade to his feet even as laughter aches in her chest. "On your feet, Paladin," she chuckles as somewhere behind her Jennings fumbles his ammo boxes once more.

"The day's not over yet."

* * *

"Keep you eyes open. We're not out in the clear yet."

Gabriel makes a point of locking eyes with both Shorty and Red as the trio emerges from the innards of the police station. The sun is starting to get low in the sky and they're still a good twenty minutes from Big Town.

Shorty nods and holds Gabriel's rifle steady, his flu mask hanging around his neck in a mimic of what Gabriel and Red have done with theirs. "We've got your back, just lead the way." Red nods her own affirmative and soon the young wastelanders are moving at a slow jog out of the ruins.

Gabriel scans the horizon as he leads his charges toward Big Town. Despite the obvious threat of being out in the open, the wanderer is surprised when nothing rushes to meet the obviously vulnerable group. Their speed only increases when Big Town comes into view. By the time the group reaches the outskirts of the settlement, Shorty and Red are almost sprinting. It's all Gabriel can do to keep up with the pair as they race across Big Town's ramshackle bridge and are hailed by the surprised voices of their neighbors. He strides past a dumbstruck Dusty just in time to see Big Town's residents, still as dirty and bedraggled as they were before, whooping and cheering at the return of their friends. Pappy engulfs Red in a massive hug while Kimba and Flash wrestle over who gets to tousle Shorty's hair.

Gabriel watches, somewhat bemused, as the wastelanders enjoy their moment of happiness. He feels... good isn't really the word. No, this is a feeling of accomplishment, the acceptance that he's done something significant and fulfilling. He's helped these people, for whatever it's worth.

And, surprisingly, it's worth more than he expected.

He smiles lightly as the celebration continues and walks under the shade of a nearby awning, his sniper rifle cradled in his arms. He's content to wait them out for a little while, but he wants his guns back. Well, maybe he'll let Red keep the shotgun. Shorty and the assault rifle? Hell no.

He busies himself with a quick maintenance check of Holly's moving parts before slotting some fresh bullets into the clip. He's got a pair of clips for the .45 at his belt, just in case, but re-using the current clip saves him the effort of needing to scrounge for more later on. Gabriel finishes looking over Holly just as frantic shouting draws him from his quiet moment. Holly is back in her holster in the blink of an eye.

He's instantly on alert when Dusty rushes past, his hunting rifle abandoned at his post. "Big movements!" he shouts at the group of worried settlers. "Big! Headed our way! Oh Christ, we're dead! We're all dead!"

_Bastards must have been just behind us,_ Gabriel thinks. He reaches out and grabs Dusty's arm before pulling him aside. He locks eyes with the frightened imbecile and the fierceness in the wanderer's eyes is enough to scare Dusty into silence.

"Grab your gun and hide," Gabriel snarls. He releases his hold on Dusty and when the lookout doesn't budge, Gabriel's growl transforms into a shout. "Go!"

Dusty snaps out of his stupor and rushes to collect his hunting rifle. Gabriel turns to face the rest of the settlers, all of whom aren't even bothering to try and hide the terror on their faces.

All of them except Red. She's got a semblance of calm going on, at least. "Gabriel..." she whispers.

He cuts her off before she can say anything else. "Red, get everyone someplace safe and out of sight. Keep low. Don't come out until you hear from me, understood?"

"But-"

"No argument." He shifts his gaze to Kimba and unholsters his laser-pistol. "You ever shoot one of these?"

The dark-skinned woman nods her head. "Had a few in the lockup back at Little Lamplight. I wasn't part of the scav team, but I learned how to shoot."

Gabriel walks over and hands Kimba the gun, as well as a pair of spare energy cells. He's down to just his pistol, Arkansas, his grenades and close quarters weapons. He hopes it will be enough.

"Get moving," he tells the wastelanders. Red silently ushers them into moving and soon the town appears empty.

Gabriel sighs. He'll kill the super mutants, but the people here won't be any safer than they were before. If these people want to survive, he'll have to do something to get them on their feet.

Still, one problem at a time. He checks Arkansas' clip and feels for Holly's reassuring weight under his right arm.

"Looks like we got ourselves a sum'bitchin' mess," he drawls. His eyes find the roof of a nearby house, one with a perfect view of the surrounding landscape.

"Gonna trade us one mess for another, yessir."

* * *

She watches from a small space through a boarded up window. The others are hidden away, tucked under beds and inside wardrobes. She should be hiding as well, but she has to see. She has to know he's going to be okay.

"See anything good?" a voice whispers at her shoulder.

Red almost shouts in surprise, but a small part of her recognizes Shorty's voice. Of course he would be the one to ignore Gabriel's order to hide. Not that she can talk, of course.

"Nothing yet," she mutters, trying to keep her voice low. "Just-"

She sucks in a breath as a massive super mutant lumbers into view, looking into the settlement from across the bridge. It's one of the big brutes, the ones who use the heavy weapons. There's a minigun in its hands, already spooling. Another brute sidles up behind its brother, a bloody sledgehammer in its meaty grip.

"Oh god," she whispers.

Something coughs nearby and the minigun mutant's jaw explodes in a mess of gore and splintered bone. The monster hits the ground with a loud thud, its weapon discarded. The sledgehammer mutant roars in anger just before another cough blows its throat out all over the dirty road.

Red watches, dumbstruck, as gunfire rips into the roofing of a nearby building. The other mutants are out of sight, and so is their target, but she can hear their roars of anger. A mutant suddenly rushes across the bridge, a grenade in its hand-

* * *

_Now or never, _he thinks.

Gabriel runs out of cover and jumps off of his rooftop, Arkansas strapped to his back and his right arm pulled back into a powerful punch. It's crazy and almost certainly suicidal, but Arkansas is jammed on a shell casing, (_fuckin' thing_) and there's no way in hell he can hit a grenade with a shot from Holly.

So, as many dead men have shouted over the years, charge!

Fisto! connects with the monster's arm just as the mutant reaches for the grenade's pin. The limb snaps off just below the shoulder and the majority of it is reduced to a stinking, bloody pulp. The mutant howls just before Gabriel's combat knife, secure in his left hand, buries itself into the monster's throat. The grenade falls from its grip, rolls in the dirt and drops into the nearby moat with a small 'plop'. Its former owner gurgles and dies, the mutant's good hand scrabbling for the blade as its body slumps forward.

Right on top of Gabriel.

The wanderer swears loudly as he falls onto his back, the mutant's weight pinning him on the ground. In his immobilized state there's little he can do to shift under the monster's dead weight. The creature's bulk is considerable and Gabriel can barely move his legs and left arm. There are still three mutants left out of the original six. Two of them have assault rifles and the third is armed with a super sledge. He scrambles with his free hand, reaching for Holly's holster.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

A mutant's bellow interrupts the steady stream of mental curses. The armored monster stomps into view, an assault rifle aimed and ready to fire. Gabriel thrashes his head to the left just as a stream of bullets slam into the ground where his face had once been. He shouts angrily through the deafening impact, if only to hear himself through the gunfire. His fingers awkwardly find Holly's grip and he levels the weapon with a quick snap of his wrist. The Holly barks four times; two of her shots got wide but the third and fourth smash into the mutant's chest and face, respectively. The abomination slumps sideways and sprays a burst of gunfire into the air with its dying spasms.

The closest threat neutralized, Gabriel tries his best to shimmy out from under the heavy corpse, but the weight is still too much. Remembering Fisto!, Gabriel lets Holly fall from his grip and punches the corpse with as much leverage as he can manage. While the corpse does shift a little, Gabriel also manages to punch a chunk out of the mutant which then sprays blood and gore all over his face.

Spitting and hacking, Gabriel almost doesn't hear the raging bellows of the last two mutants until he's suddenly pulled out from under the dead mutant and lifted into the air by an inhuman strength. Blinking his way through the gore, Gabriel locks gazes with the hate-filled orbs of the super-sledge mutant. Its massive hand is clenched around his throat and is starting to squeeze.

"YOU DIE!" the mutant roars. Gabriel's answer is a whispered insult followed by a punch in the face from Fisto!

The mutant's head implodes from the force of the impact and sprays the monster lets Gabriel go as its body begins to fall. The wanderer, not willing to be trapped under another one of the dead bastards, steps aside as the corpse hits the ground.

The last mutant swings its rifle to Gabriel and roars. The wanderer remembers that he doesn't have a gun. Point blank. He's dead.

_Damn. _

Gunfire splits the air, but from behind. The sound of a combat shotgun rips through the air. An assault rifle chatters from somewhere unseen, matched by the steady zap of a laser pistol.

Each of Gabriel's loaned weapons rip into the final mutant, throwing off the creature's aim just as it fires. Automatic fire rips from its weapon and harmlessly into the air as impact after impact craters the monstrosity. The withering hail of gunfire is neither precise nor disciplined, but the sheer weight of the firepower is enough to force the mutant back, knock it over and finally kill the beast.

Gabriel turns slowly and sees Shorty, Kimba and Red, his weapons in their hands, standing in a semi-arch behind him. They've got smiles on their faces, all three of them, and stand with a cool confidence that hadn't existed before.

Red leans Gabriel's combat shotgun in the crook of her arm and her smile widens into an honest-to-god grin. "I can't tell you how much I needed that."

Kimba lowers the laser pistol in her left hand and wipes the pooling tears from her eyes with the left. "We... we did it? We beat them? All of them?"

Shorty, Gabriel's assault rifle tucked under his right arm, punches the air with a victory fist. "Hell yeah! That's how we do it in Big Town, you dumb green chickenshits! That's how Shorty do, baby! That's how Shorty do!"

Kimba and Red glance at their diminutive companion with some bemusement and suddenly all three of them are laughing like children, overwhelmed by their sense of victory and the relief that goes with it.

Abandoning their hiding places, the other residents of Big Town join their friends in celebration. There's plenty of hollering, happy yelling, tears. It's an almost exact duplicate of the earlier celebration prompted by Red and Shorty's return, but this one has something else. There's hope here, in this moment. Hope for something more. Hope for something better. The people of Big Town are clutching onto it with as much fervor as they can muster, afraid to let even the smallest drop of it go.

Standing there, exhausted and drenched in the stinking blood of at least two abominations, Gabriel has never felt better in his life.

* * *

Red sees his smile before anyone else does.

It's in there, hidden by the coat of blood he's wearing, but it's there. She breaks free of the crowd of her friends and walks up to her rescuer, his shotgun cradled in her arms. He's wiping the blood off of his face and out of his hair with reckless abandon.

He looks up in surprise at her approach and she smiles warmly. "You okay?"

"Uh... yeah. I'm fine. Sticky, but fine. Thanks."

She holds out his weapon, an offering from one rescuer to another. "Don't look so shocked, Gabriel Matthews. Here, told you I'd give this back, didn't I?"

He nods, the remnants of the smile still curling the corners of his mouth. "Thanks," he says as he takes the shotgun back. He sets it down on the ground next to him and wrings a few more drops of blood from his hair. "You guys saved my ass back there, no doubt. I appreciate the assist."

Red laughs warmly. "Our pleasure. I'm just glad we were able to help." She glances over his shoulder at the mutant bodies sprawling in the sun. "You were amazing, even when you got stuck under that mutant. I've never seen anybody fight like that, never. How do you do it?"

He shrugs and wipes off a bit more blood from his face. "It's... I guess you could call it instinctual. I just do what I have to do to survive, you know?"

Red shakes her head. "No, I don't know. The things you've done for us... it's pretty incredible. You took down an entire super mutant camp to keep us safe. We'll never be able to repay you."

He waves her off. Mutant blood flicks off of his fingertips. "You don't owe me anything. I said I'd help, and I did."

"Still, thanks. None of us would be alive right now if it wasn't for you."

Gabriel's eyes glance at the nearby mutant bodies. "I'll give you guys a hand getting those things out of here. Heavy suckers. I'm sure I can rig something together so we can drag them. After that we can get everybody looked at, medically, I mean. Plus, you guys could use some target practice. You might've saved me, but that was some piss poor shooting." He laughs a little and Red can see the layers of stress wash off of him.

"You'd do that?" she asks, her voice hitching in her breath.

"Sure," he says, looking a little perplexed by the expression on Red's face. "Hell, give me a place to sleep for the night and I'll give you a hand setting up some better defenses. The mutants just stormed right across that bridge." He pauses for a moment and a glint of something appears in his eyes. "Now that I'm thinking about it..."

"What?"

"I've got some supplies stored nearby, not an hour's walk from here. There's a lot of stuff, more than I need. Food, water, guns, ammo, you name it. I could bring some of it down here, get you guys better situated. Least I could do for saving my ass like you did. Besides, what would be the point of saving anybody if I just left you in the same state you were in before?"

She has no idea what prompts it, but she throws her arms around the young man and places a desperate kiss on his lips, one she promptly pulls away once she tastes him.

Red takes two steps back and begins spitting profusely. "You taste terrible!" she exclaims, laughing even as grateful tears threaten to stream down her face.

Gabriel, looking not a little stunned, lets out an awkward laugh. In that moment, Red doesn't see him as the tough mercenary that saved her. No, he's just a young man, no older than she is, trying to get by and doing the right thing.

"That'd be the super mutant blood I got in my mouth," he says, smiling a little. "I got most of it out, but the taste is god-awful."

Red returns his smile with her own and tugs on his arm, leading him to her celebrating friends. "C'mon, Mr. Matthews. I'm sure the others will want to thank you as well. Probably not in the same way I just did but hey, you never know."

Gabriel chuckles a little but allows himself to be led. In that moment, he's forgotten all about his wasteland woes, the anger at himself and his father, the uncertainty that has plagued him since leaving the Vault. He's just basking in the accomplishment, the knowledge that he's done something right. There's peace in that, if only a little.

"Can't I get cleaned up first?" he asks, his voice almost lost among the cheering wastelanders.

"I'm a bloody mess, after all."

* * *

**LM here,**

**Quick quiz before we get to the notes. Get your pens ready. Here goes:**

**Gabriel Matthews is engaging a pair of standard super mutants at mid-to close range. One mutant is rushing with a sledgehammer and a grenade, the other is armed with a hunting rifle. Should he:**

**A. Open fire with his assault rifle?**

**B. Close with his power fist and combat knife?**

**C. Shoot the mutant's grenade with his laser pistol?**

**Answer follows below, after the notes.**

**So yeah, this one is even later than I predicted. Since I'm always wrong anyway, I suppose it doesn't matter. Hope you enjoyed. **

**Yay for some Elder Lyons and Star Paladin Cross! I thought it best to introduce her as a cyborg early on, just so we get some context ahead of time. Context for what, you ask? Muahahaha! Seriously though, I enjoyed writing that scene. Elder Lyons is probably my favorite so far, as far as his nature and dialogue are concerned. Also, checkers is srs bsns gais. **

**Man, Sarah and the Pride are fun to write! Banter between Dusk and Glade (or Glade/anyone else) is turning out to be a blast, and Jennings and Redding are more entertaining than I thought they'd be. Gallows. Dude. The Knight Captain is srs bsns gais. **

**Centaurs are fucking disgusting. Nuff' said. **

**I'm surprised by how much Gabriel managed to keep his shit together during this chapter. He didn't treat Red and Shorty like shit and was actually (sort of) motivated to help Big Town. Wow, way to develop without my consent, Gabe-my-boy. Plus, he almost got killed! A few times! Yeah!**

**Wait, no, there was that Sam Warrick scene. He loses his shit pretty hard there. Daddy issues are in there too, if I remember correctly. ****Eh, I'm sure I'll find something to balance Gabriel's scales sooner or later. After all, I still have quite a few hammers waiting to drop. Some of them you Fallout fans are already well aware of. Some of them are secrets that I will horde like dragon's gold until they're ready to be released. Secrets is srs- no more of that.**

**Next chapter should be fun. Probably more character development and less actiony stuff, but that's fine. Also, Dogmeat! WOOO!**

**Oh, and the answer to the above quiz was letter...**

**D. **

**D- As in: Those muties are Dead no matter what GM Does. (C wut I did thar?)**

**Anyway, that's all for now! Let me know what you guys think. I always look forward to hearing from you. (Reviews is srs bsns gais)**

**Happy Mother's Day!**

**Levi Matthews**

**P.S. There's a Benchwarmers reference and an XCOM: EU reference tucked away in this chapter. Cookies if you spot'em!**


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